


In The Meantime

by argallel



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Aphasia, Bad Ass Fitz, Blankets, Brain Damage, Brain Training Games, Christmas, Clothes, Coulson has a Soul, Dinner, Doctor Who References, Eating with your Hands, Elf, Epilepsy, Everyone worries about Fitz, Fitz Whump, Fitz has a nice ass, Fitz is not okay, Gen, Grand Mal Seizure, Heavy Medication, Hot Chocolate, Hunter Feels Ridiculous, Hurt Leo Fitz, Independence, Massive feels, May has a heart, Meditation, Meltdown, Migraine, Panic, Recovery, Regression, Seizure, Shopping, Sore Loser, Tasers, Thunderstorms, Vomit, Wheelchairs, Wrapping Presents, Yoga, absence seizures, chicken, complex partial seizure, falling, fork, iPad, inventory, mama may, physiotherapy, pinball, screwdrivers, sensory input, steak, tonic clonic seizure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-24
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2018-05-28 19:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,134
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6341764
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/argallel/pseuds/argallel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The human brain is fickle. Once damaged, it's never the same. Everything changes.</p>
<p>Or...</p>
<p>Fitz didn't go from being barely alive in a coma to walking and -mostly- talking. There were months in between where the whole team rallied around him as he tried to get back to some state resembling normal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was pretty upset that Marvel never showed any of Fitz' recovery, and even now, there aren't really any signs of brain damage. I decided to rectify the situation by writing little glimpses into the months following the injury and how the whole team- minus Simmons- rallied around him.
> 
> How many chapters will there be? I guess it depends on how many more boring classes I have to attend. :)

Fitz stared at the woman in front of him with hard eyes.

“I want you to try something different today.” She held out her hands to help Fitz to his feet. When he did nothing but look at her mutely, she raised an eyebrow at him. “I don’t have all day.”

Slowly, shakily, he raised his arms and weakly gripped May’s hands, steadying himself. He concentrated. In what would most definitely not be called a smooth motion, he pulled himself into a semi-standing position. A small smile crept across his face.

“Good.” May gave him what might be a smile. “Today you’re going to greet the new mechanic Coulson hired, since you’ll be working with him a lot.”

The air in the room all of a sudden seemed thick. Fitz’ mouth opened, closed, then opened again as he tried out different sounds, searching for just the right one. “No,” he said eventually, but emphatically.

She raised an eyebrow. “That wasn’t a question.” Though she looked indifferent on the outside, inwardly, May was pleased. The extensive brain damage made speech near impossible for him, and he had been resisting speech therapy. “Do you want the walker or do you want to lean on me?”

In response, he gripped May tighter.

“Alright.” She helped him turn to face the door. “We have plenty of time to get to the hanger.”

Each shuffling step was a complex motion, and within a few metres, Fitz began to falter, putting more and more weight on May. Eventually, they were forced to stop. He could feel the perspiration trickling down his temples.

“That’s good.” May pulled out a wheelchair from somewhere and helped Fitz lower himself into it. Once seated, he collapsed in on himself, breathing heavily, a scowl on his face. It was as if May had expected him to get only this far.

It was quiet for a moment, save for the sound of Fitz trying to regain his breath. “Put your feet up,” May said after a minute. Slowly, Fitz uncurled and tried to lift his feet up onto the rests, but his legs were no longer cooperating. They jerked up, but wouldn’t go where he told them too.

May watched for a moment before leaning down and lifting them up for him. Her face was unreadable. “Let’s go.”

The hanger was empty, save for Coulson, Fitz, and May. Coulson looked over at Fitz and gave him the usual bland smile. “Fitz, it’s good to see you here.” He leant down. “I’m counting on you to say hello.”

The hanger door opened, and in strode a large, black man. Footsteps echoed loudly as he walked up to the trio. “Coulson.”

“Agent Alphonso Mackenzie, meet Agent Melinda May and Agent Leopold Fitz.”

May nodded at the man, and then all eyes turned to Fitz. 

The atmosphere of the room was suffocating. Fitz looked at Coulson pleadingly, but seeing there was no way out, he sighed. “Bu-er, uh,” he stuttered as he searched for the right sound. “He…lla…llo. Hello.”

To his credit, the newest agent didn’t even seemed fazed by Fitz’ inability to speak. He just reached down -which was a long way since Mack was quite tall and Fitz was in a wheelchair- and extended his arm. “Nice to meet you, Agent Fitz. I’ve heard all about your tech, and I look forward to working with you.”

Fitz stuck out his arm, hand completely missing Mack’s. Again, the new agent wasn’t fazed, and simply grabbed Fitz’ hand and shook it.

He allowed himself to be wheeled straight back to his bedroom without the usual stop to the kitchen for a post-physiotherapy chocolate milkshake. Swallowing was still a bit of a concern, so he stuck mostly to thick drinks.

May wheeled him right to the door and then stopped. Stepping around the chair to stand in front of him, she held out her arms once again. “Come on.”

It was too much. He tried to stand, but somewhere along the way his legs turned to jelly and his arms to spaghetti. He fell heavily against May and as they- surprisingly gently- hit the floor, he began to cry. And not just crocodile tears either, but genuine sobs.

It took a while for him to calm down. Eventually, when his sobs tapered off into silence, May help him shift into a sitting position.

“I’m only going to say this once, so you better be listening.” Once Fitz had clumsily swiped away the last of his tears, she continued. “It’s okay to not be okay. What you’re going through is tough. I get it. It’s hard that you can’t do what you used to do, and now everything’s changing and you’re still working on being able to live independently. It’s okay to cry about it.” She paused. “It’s okay to miss Simmons and how things used to be.” Another, longer, pause. “I miss it too.”  
He nodded, and with a quick thought to his speech therapist, jerkily signed thank you.

“Alright then. I think you need to sleep.” She pulled out her phone and sent a quick text. Fitz looked at her questioningly. “I may be strong, and you may have lost weight, but you are tired and it’s going to be difficult to get you into bed myself.”

Who did she text? Fitz watched the doorway tiredly, drained completely even though it was only eleven in the morning. Just as he started to lose the fight to keep his eyes open, the newest agent walked into the room.

“Hey, Coulson said you need me?”

“Mind giving us a hand?”

This time, Mack did hesitate, but only momentarily. “Sure.” He bent down next to the pair. “Where do you want me?”

May looked at Fitz for a moment before answering, searching his face until she was satisfied he would indeed be able to help them somewhat. “I’ll take his right side, you take his left. He can walk to the bed, he just needs support.”

It was surprisingly not that awkward being pretty much carried back to his bed by May and the new guy. Since the accident, Fitz had lost a lot of dignity and privacy, having to have someone there with him pretty much 24/7. Mack was professional, but gentle at the same time.

Once in bed, Fitz allowed May to throw a fuzzy blanket over him before setting him with a stern look. “You know the drill. Bobbi’s coming in an hour for lunch and meds.” She went to turn away, but stopped. “I don’t want to hear about you giving her grief. Am I making myself clear?” He nodded jerkily in response. “Good.”

She left then, leaving Fitz alone with Mack. The tall man sat down gently on the chair beside the engineer’s bed, silent. Eventually, just as Fitz was dropping off, he spoke. “It’s good to meet you, man. I’ll take first watch, okay?”

And even though Fitz knew little about this man, he smiled to himself. Maybe things would be okay after all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunter glared at Bobbi. “How the hell did you rope me into doing this, anyways?”
> 
> In which Bobbi attempts to lead Hunter and Fitz in some *relaxing* yoga.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back for another session of Fitz feels and, well, whump, really. This chapter takes a slightly more lighthearted look at Fitz' recovery, and how his friends are always there for them.
> 
> I have another chapter in the works, and another I've started to dream up. :)

There was no way he was going to do this. He was going to fall on his face, there was no question there. Fitz looked up at Bobbi, his eyes narrow. “No.”

“I agree with the man. No way.” Hunter glared at Bobbi. “How the hell did you rope me into doing this, anyways?” Of course they were in the living room of the compound, which was open to anyone who wanted to look in and see the trio. “This really isn’t my kind of thing.”

“Yoga is everybody’s kind of thing,” Bobbi sad as she crossed her legs with her feet up on her knees. “Let’s try the Fire Log pose first. It’s a pretty stable pose, but let us know if you think you’re going to fall, alright Fitz?”

Hunter sighed, but complied, slowly crossing his legs into a position similar to Bobbi’s.

Fitz on the other hand, didn’t move at first. He had to think this through before he moved, otherwise he really would fall over. It took an agonizingly long minute, but he eventually managed to pull his legs into a position resembling the one Bobbi and Hunter held.

“Good. Now clasp your hands out in front of you like this.”

Great. Crossing his legs had already made him feel off kilter.

The look on Hunter’s face was priceless. “Nuh-uh. I am not doing that. I’ll look all peaceful and less like I could kill you with a paper clip.”

“Hunter.” Bobbi forced a smile onto her face. “You couldn’t kill someone with a paperclip. May could, but not you. And do you know what May likes to do after she practices ti-chi? 

She likes to do yoga. So do the pose. No one will think any less of you.”

First hand up off the floor. Slowly, Fitz, slowly.

“Come on, Bob! This is ridiculous! I am a dangerous man! I don’t twist and extend and hold awkward positions for long periods of time unless I’m, you know…”

“Of course. Why does it always come back to sex with you, anyways?”

Deep breath, and lift the other hand.

“Why do you always have to be that person? I am a complex man with many hidden talents!”

Fitz could feel his muscles straining as he fought to keep his balance without the steadying use of his hands. Although he had gained back a lot of his strength, his balance was still a huge issue. If he had his legs splayed outwards, he could sit for increasingly long periods of time, but in any other position, he was liable to topple over without warning. 

“Many hidden talents, sure. Talents like beating people to a pulp with your fists and having severe commitment and intimacy issues.”

Wait, was he…

Incomprehensible stammers of errant consonants and vowels tumbled out of Fitz’ mouth as he desperately tried to say something, anything, to alert the arguing pair that he was listing sideways. As he toppled sideways, he managed to yelp.

Bobbi and Hunter stopped arguing and looked over in surprise.

May walked in the room at that moment. She glanced at the trio blandly before grabbing an apple out of the basket on the kitchen counter. “Aren’t you two here to stop that from happening?” she asked.

The floor really wasn’t that comfortable, and Fitz just sighed. “I, uh… I need…” He stopped, unable to figure out what the next word in his sentence should be.

“Leave him be,” May said as both Bobbi and Hunter lunged to help the fallen engineer. “He needs to work on core strength. If he falls when no one is around to help him, he needs to be able to get into a sitting position by himself.” She bit into her apple and strode out.

It really was uncomfortable down on the floor. Fitz gathered up strength and managed to flip himself onto his front with a solid sounding thud.

“Uh, I guess you got this, mate,” Hunter said. “As much as I want to help you, May said not to. And there is no way I’m crossing May. I learnt my lesson after shooting her that one time.”

Fitz glared, even though he knew Hunter couldn’t see him. Now that he was on his front, he had no idea how he was supposed to get up into any sort of upright position. His breath was hot against his cheek as he lay with his face pressed into the rug. He growled in frustration.

“Just pull your legs under you and slide the rest of yourself up. Use a nearby object if you need something to brace yourself on.” Bobbi shifted uncomfortably as she watched Fitz struggle to do anything from his prone position. 

“Sss… sounds,” Fitz stammered, “On-ly sounds…”

The laugh Hunter let out was quick, but full of humor. “Bob, I think he’s giving you sass.” He turned to look at Fitz. “She makes everything look easy, mate.”

“Even kicking your ass.”

“Especially kicking my ass.”

Fitz let out a breathy laugh before he kicked his legs, trying to get them to do what he asked. He had managed to draw his legs somewhat underneath him when loud klaxons shrieked throughout the building.

In an instant, both Bobbi and Hunter were up and halfway out the door before either of them realised they were leaving Fitz face down on the ground.

“Hunter, get back here and help!” Bobbi called as Hunter kept running down the hallway. She raced over to Fitz’ side and helped him roll back onto his back before helping him sit up. Hunter came running back into the room and together they lifted Fitz back into the nearby wheel chair. “We’ll let May know you’re here, okay?” And with that, they ran off again.

The klaxons were loud enough that a steady thrumming had started up in Fitz’ head. He sat there, wondering if he should try to wheel himself out to see what was going on. It was difficult enough for him to control his gross motor movements, let alone his fine motor movements, so he decided against it. 

Skye came tearing into the room with a wild look on her face. “Coulson’s missing. An old arms dealer managed to sneak onto our base, and only set off the alarms when he was leaving with Coulson.” She grabbed the wheelchair and pushed Fitz out the room and down the hall in a great hurry. “May wants you to help me try to dig up any dirt on this guy.”

Fitz sighed. At least he didn’t have to pull himself up off the floor now.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz used to love team dinners. Everyone would be joking around and having a great time. 
> 
> But now? Now, he hates his fork. And this whole thing just goes awry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Back at it again! 
> 
> I hope to write even more chapters, and I actually hope to write a partner series about Fitz dealing specifically with epilepsy after his injury.
> 
> Also, warning for so much fluff it'll give you a cavity.

“…which is when Barton found me.”

Everyone was in hysterics by this point, dinner abandoned as they laughed at the director. Coulson sat at the head of the table, his face pulled into a cheeky, yet becoming, smile.

Even May was laughing, but she was still calm enough to speak. “And how did he react when he found you?” She picked up her fork and speared a carrot, but didn’t put it in her mouth until after she finished speaking. “Knowing Barton, he probably had some snippy response.”

“Surprisingly, Barton was quite cordial about the whole thing.” By this point, Coulson had turned a shade red. 

“Even with the whole…uh…” Skye waved her hand around in an attempt to find a word that described the situation.

“Yes, even then.”

After Ward betrayed them, Simmons left, and everything changed, Coulson had decided they needed to bond once again as a team, and had instigated weekly dinners. This week May had cooked steaks and a large pan of grilled veggies. Everyone was seemingly enjoying themselves, especially once Coulson started telling stories of his old days as a recruitment officer.

Everyone, that was, except Fitz. May leaned over towards him, her voice low. “Alright?”

He nodded, and made a clumsy attempt to stab at his food with his fork. “Fine.” But as soon as May looked away, his face twisted back into a grimace.

Coulson launched into another story from his early days and Fitz turned back to the problem that was his dinner. It wasn’t that he disliked the food; on the contrary, it looked and smelled delicious. He really wanted to eat.

It was the utensils. Fitz usually ate a soft sandwich for lunch with Bobbi or Mack, and May had taken to making him thick soups for dinner. Sandwiches could be eaten with your hands and thick soups with a spoon. He still hadn’t gotten the hang of using a fork again. Forks required a certain amount of dexterity he just didn’t have yet.

“Hey, Fitz,” a voice called from the other end of the table, bring him out of the stubborn glaring contest with his fork. “I heard you made it all the way to the hanger and back today without any help.” Mack raised a glass in the air. “Kudos to you.”

Everyone else raised their glasses as well. Fitz cleared his throat and took hold of his own, specially molded, plastic cup, and lifted it into the air. “Uh, thanks.”

“Hear, hear,” Skye called out. They all took a sip of their drinks before turning to quiet conversation between bites.

Fitz turned back to his predicament. He was still stuck on how he was supposed to use his fork without making a mess. May, blessed May, had served him a plate with the meat and vegetables already cut up into bite-sized pieces. But he still wasn’t sure how to spear them. He contemplated asking for a spoon before realising it wouldn’t be any easier to scoop up the small pieces.

“Hey, Turbo, everything good down there?” Mack’s voice rose above the din of the dinner conversation. 

Fitz froze. “I, uh,” he stuttered. Although he was getting better at speaking in cohesive sentences, stress always made his aphasia worse. “It’s just… uh…” Getting frustrated, he lifted the fork into the air. “The- the spoon. No…the, uh… fork.”

Mack raised an eyebrow. “The fork?”

The table went completely silent. Bobbi and Hunter looked at each other for a minute, sharing messages via eyebrow movements, before Bobbi spoke up. “I can get you a spoon if you want. If it’s easier for you.”

If the room seemed quiet before, it was worse now. The atmosphere was oppressive and Fitz fought the urge to leave the table. The only problem was, May had pushed his chair in after he sat down, and he really wasn’t sure he was calm enough at this point to have the coordination to push himself out. 

His palms left a sweaty mark on his trousers. “I’m okay.”

Coulson, who had been unusually silent during this whole exchange, appraised the situation with unreadable eyes. Suddenly, he stood up and walked to the sink, fork in hand.

“Coulson?” May’s eyebrow’s dipped.

He didn’t respond, and a minute later there was a large clank before he strode back to the table and sat down, sans fork. Without saying a word, he picked up his piece of steak with his hands and bit into it.

Everyone stared for a moment.

It was Hunter who shrugged, dropped his knife and fork on the table, and picked up a grilled piece of asparagus with his hands. He turned to Bobbi. “Did you ever get your batons fixed?”

“I gave them to Mack,” she said as she quietly put down her eating utensils. “And I assume you’re working on it?” She turned to face the mechanic. 

“I’m working on it,” he said slowly. “I’m used to working on cars and machines, not small fiddly weapons.”

“Fiddly weapons? Did he just call your batons ‘fiddly’, Bob?”

“I think he did, Hunter.”

Normally Fitz would have enjoyed hearing Mack, Bobbi, and Hunter have a teasing go at each other, but he was still in shock over seeing the director of a covert organisation eating a medium rare steak with his hands. Not only that, but the cavalry was eating her steak with her hands as well.

Coulson looked up and caught Fitz staring at him. He took a bite of his hand-steak before winking at the engineer and turning back to conversation.

Slowly, still in disbelief, Fitz put down the offending fork and grasped a piece of carrot in his hand. 

“May, you have got to teach me how to cook like this,” Skye said, her mouth full. “Sure, I can cook a mean pot of ramen, but this is fantastic!”

“I’ll teach you how to cook when I’m sure you won’t burn down the kitchen,” May replied blandly.

Fitz popped the piece of carrot in his mouth. It was just as delicious as he’d expected it to be, maybe even more. Or maybe it wasn’t the carrot, maybe it was the people he was with. His family.

Sure, Ward had betrayed them and Simmons had left, and while both those events had left gaping holes in his heart, they were slowly being mended. He had this family, and evidently this family was willing to do anything to bring him in. 

Even eat steak with their hands.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Fitz, say something so I know you’re not dead!”
> 
> When the brain is hurt, it protests, often in the form of migraines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, lookie here, I'm back again with another chapter of Fitz whump. This chapter is pure hurt/comfort. There is little recovery in this chapter, but there is a sweet little May moment at then end.
> 
> Warning- if you don't like vomit, careful reading this one.

Heavy footsteps clomped past Fitz’ door and he whimpered involuntarily. Where was May? He needed May, well, really, he just needed anyone. What was the time? Fitz dared to crack one eye open to glance at the digital clock on his bedside table. The neon green light burned into his retinas, sending a spike of pain through his head.

7:04. He closed his eye and let his balance resettle. She was 4 minutes late. On today of all days… and Skye had his IPad, something about upgrading it, so he couldn’t even send a message to anyone.

“Fitz! Wakey wakey!” A cheerful voice sprung through his door and stabbed him in the ears. “May’s dealing with something with Coulson, very loudly. Are you decent? Can I come in?” Skye let out a nervous giggle. “See, that’s a joke, because May sent me here to help you with your shirt buttons and fly and small things like that.”

Skye’s voice was so loud, so shrill, it bounced around his head and slammed into his temples.

“Fitz?” the door cracked open and a line of light spilled into the previously dark room. Fitz turned his head away from the door and ground the heels of his palms into his eyes in an attempt to block out the piercing light. A loud groan escaped him.

“Oh my god, Fitz!” Skye threw the door open all the way and all but ran to the engineer. “What’s wrong, are you hurt? Should I go and get May?” Her sheer volume made Fitz’ stomach lurch. When he didn’t answer, she just got louder. “Fitz, say something so I know you’re not dead!” A small hand reached out and grabbed his shoulder, rolling him over with surprising force.

The movement sent his brain spinning on its axis, the world wobbling.

His stomach heaved and he pulled himself to the edge of the bed as he threw up, the motion making him impossibly dizzy. Skye cursed and jolted backwards. Fitz barely noticed. He was too busy trying to fend off the dizziness and not fall off his bed.

It registered faintly that Skye ran off, yelling for May. Time passed in agonizingly slow seconds as Fitz tried to calm the rolling of his stomach and the pounding in his head. He heard a low conversation before someone padded quietly into his room and came over to him.

“Fitz?” The voice was gentle and soft. Bobbi. “Skye went to get May. Do you have a migraine?”

He made a small, affirmative squeak.

“I’ll get May to bring your meds, okay?” There was a rustling sound as Bobbi pulled out her phone and sent a quick text before snagging a handful of tissues off the dresser. “Here, you can wipe your mouth.” She pressed the tissues into his hand. He clumsily swiped at his face before passing the disgusting tissues back. Bobbi took them without comment. “Think you can sit up if I help you?”

She waited a beat before taking him by the shoulders and helping him slowly shuffle into a semi-upright position. “Can you rate it on the one to ten scale?”

A number… was there even a number to describe how sick he felt and how much it hurt even to exist? Another spike of pain shot through his head, and Fitz reached out, blindly finding Bobbi’s hand and squeezing it as tightly as he could. His breath hitched.

“Okay, you’re okay,” Bobbi murmured. “Take a deep breath. May’s going to be here in just a minute with your meds.”

Right on cue, May strode silently into the room, multiple orange bottles in her hands. She took in the scene before stepping around the mess on the floor to sit next to Fitz on the bed. “Water, Bobbi.” She shook a combination of pills into her hand and tapped on Fitz’ own clenched hand. When he uncurled his fingers, she pressed the meds into his palm. 

“Careful, don’t drop them.” He managed to swallow the pills with a chase of water. “Alright.”

“I’m gonna go and grab a rag and some ginger ale,” Bobbi said as she left the room.

The water and meds were not sitting well in Fitz’ stomach. He swallowed thickly, catching May’s ever present attention.

“Take a deep breath and relax.” She put her hand on his trembling shoulder. “The pain meds should kick in soon, and then you’ll feel better.”  
In and out. Fitz tried to regulate his breathing against the ballooning of his brain against his skull. In and out. In and out. He fell into an empty state of mind, barely awake, the pattern of breathing eclipsing the pain and all other thoughts. 

Eventually, he experimentally cracked an eye open. His room was very dark, but he could make out May sitting there beside him. Bobbi was there too, in the chair beside his dresser. He hadn’t heard her come back in.

He reached out towards May.

“Fitz?” Her voice was still soft, though persistent. “Have the meds kicked in now?” When he hesitantly nodded, thankful when it didn’t cause him to feel like he might pass out, she continued. “Let’s get you back into bed properly. You need to sleep this one off.”

Bobbi came over and stood protectively over the pair as May helped Fitz shuffle back down into a supine position. “I’ve put some ginger ale and crackers on your bedside table, okay? And I turned your clock the other direction, because I figure the LED lights wouldn’t help your head.”

He was floating… or, rather, Fitz realised May had given him some stronger meds than he would normally take for a migraine. His tongue was heavy, but he managed to speak, despite his brain being fuzzy from both the migraine and the drugs. “You- you drugged, uh, me.”

“Drugged you?” May raised an eyebrow. His knitted together in confusion as he tried to figure out where he went wrong in his sentence. “I gave you something… stronger, yes.”

It was then that Fitz noticed the tight lines around May’s eyes, the almost imperceptible clenching of her shoulders. She was worried, scared, one might say. Had May really been that worried about him? Sure, it was a terrible migraine, but he did get migraines occasionally, a side effect from the hypoxia. 

As usual, May knew what he was thinking. “You needed the stronger meds, Fitz. You weren’t in good shape when I got here.” She paused. “You gave Skye one hell of a scare.”

Fitz hummed in response, his eyelids already closed.

“Okay,” May said. “You get some rest and I’ll be in to check up on you later.” Then, “Has Skye finished with your IPad yet?” When he made a noise of disagreement, she sighed. 

“Alright, well, I don’t think you’re in any condition to work my phone…” She trailed off.

“Just throw something if you need us,” Bobbi said with a joking tone. “Seriously, though, uh, I’ll go and see what’s up with the IPad.”

“And I’ll stick around for a while,” May said. “I missed my meditation this morning.”

The room fell silent once again as Bobbi left and May positioned herself on the floor across from Fitz’ bed. Earlier, even a year ago, this would have been very awkward for Fitz, having May sitting on his floor while he slept. But ever since the accident, she had always been there for him.

Not that the others hadn’t, but… May was the one who helped him learn to walk again, was the one who took care of his meds and gave him grief over having no appetite.  
So as strange as it was, he was glad the cavalry was on his floor. 

He drifted off to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fitz wants to be more independent, he really does, but he doesn't want to lose himself.
> 
> Also, Hunter apparently sucks at pinball.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back for another round of angst, heartbreak, and revelations for our favourite engineer. I'm finally done with exams now -the reason this story hasn't been updated in forever- so hopefully I'll be getting more chapters out soon. If anyone has any ideas for a chapter, let me know. I'm always looking for new ideas. :)

“I don’t get why, uh, get why… I need to be here.” Fitz tapped the palm of his hand uncomfortably against the armrest of the wheelchair. To his credit, he was able to walk short distances without any support, and mostly walked around the base all day with the aid of a walker, but for special expeditions like this, he still used a wheelchair. “You know my, uh, my…” Fingers clenched into a fist. “Um, my…”

“There’s no use fighting what Bobbi says, mate.” The lights on the ceiling seemed somehow even faker than the ones back on base. They illuminated everything with a sickly yellow wash. “If she says you’re going shopping, you’re going shopping.” Hunter sighed from behind Fitz. “Which is why I’m here.”

Bobbi turned around and fixed both men with a steely glare. “Fitz, you’ve been saying you want to be more independent and that’s what you’re doing.” She flipped through a rack of shirts. “Finding you clothes you can put on by yourself.”

“Online shopping,” Fitz grumbled.

“I am in complete agreement with the man.” Hunter pushed the wheelchair after Bobbi who had suddenly turned and walked away.

Another rack of shirts, this time not button up ones. “Men are all the same. If you buy online, how can you be sure it will fit you properly?” She held one up. “How about this one? Large head hole, no buttons, but it looks kind of like what you wear already.”

It really didn’t look like something he wore already. Fitz used to wear button up shirts with nice cuffs, often a sweater vest -don’t forget the tie- nice slacks, and shiny, lace up dress shoes. Since the accident, if he wanted anything more than a t-shirt and sweatpants, he needed help. Socks were finally less of an issue, but the button on pants was still obscenely difficult. “Fine.”

Bobbi sighed once again and held the shirt out. “At least look at it, feel it maybe, see if you actually like it.”

“It’s a bloody shirt, does- does it…” This time, both hands curled into tight fists.

“Okay, mate.” Hunter looked up at Bobbi. “Let’s go find the arcade, yeah? Bobbi knows your size, and we can come back to try things on when she’s finished.” When Bobbi nodded, he looked down at Fitz.

Fitz breathed in and out, measured breaths, trying to cool the frustration that was boiling over. “Okay, okay,” he said after a moment.

He allowed himself to be pushed out of the stuffy store and into the open space of the mall. Coulson had some ‘business’ (that no one knew what it was) in the area, and had given the trio permission to go out shopping. They were to pick out some new clothes and new utensils for Fitz, and whatever else they thought he could use.

Fitz wanted to be more independent, he really did, but shopping for a new wardrobe was turning out to be a lot harder than he thought it would be. For as long as he could remember, he had been dressing pretty much the same. Even as a young child his mum dressed him in nice clothes. But now?

Now Fitz was stuck wearing what he could get on himself, or have someone come and help him dress. And even if he did have someone come and do up his buttons and the like, the clothes were still too restricting for him to properly move about in.

The floor had recently been polished, and the wheelchair squeaked as Hunter pushed it along. “Okay, so let’s stop off and grab a pretzel or something, because that rabbit food Bob made for lunch was terrible, and then we’ll head to the arcade.”

Fitz hummed in agreement. He was actually hungry for once, maybe due to barely eating any of the salad Bobbi had made for lunch. Too many bits falling everywhere.

After a quick stop in the food court, the pair made their way to the arcade. The pretzel was warm, salty, and big enough that Fitz was able to grasp it without worry of dropping it and looking foolish in public. “Can we pl.. uh, pl… do pinball?” He asked as he finished off the snack.

“What else would be play?” Hunter grinned as they entered the dark room. Lights flashed in every corner and music waltzed around. “I mean, Space Invaders is pretty cool, but nothing beats a good ole’ fashioned game of pinball.”

“Fantastic.” As Hunter pushed Fitz up to a happily free pinball machine, the engineer smiled. “Can I… uh, get some…” He licked his lips. “Uh, help up?”

“Course, mate.” As much as Fitz hated having to be helped, especially in the view of others, he was too excited about playing pinball to really think about being humiliated.

Lights danced around the edges of the machine, enticing flashes glimmering in his vision. A heft from Hunter had him on his feet. He shuffled forwards and felt for the buttons, grateful for the wide stance and the stability it gave him.

Fitz settled into the rhythm of the game, his reflexes surprisingly still very good. He hadn’t played the game in years, but the buttons were large enough for him to just sort of mash, and he only dropped the ball once or twice. After a while, he heard Hunter sigh and shift positions from behind.

“Oi, mate, do I get a turn?” Hunter clapped a hand on Fitz’ shoulder.

“Yeah.” Fitz glanced behind him to make sure the wheelchair was there, and then sat down and push himself backwards slightly with his feet. “Bet you can’t b-b- uh, do better than… me.”

“You’re on! Prepare to lose!” Hunter jumped into the game with a fervour, pulling the ball launcher back hard. 

The ball fell almost immediately.

Hunter whipped around to Fitz, a look of disbelief on his face. Fitz lost it laughing and doubled over in the wheelchair. “Prepare to lose!” he echoed in-between gasping breaths. “Prepare to lose!” He felt a lightheaded giddiness as Hunter grumbled something and forcefully rolled the engineer out of the arcade.

Fitz had managed to compose himself by the time they got to the elevator and by the time they got back to the store, he felt anxious again. He didn’t want to deal with the clothes, he really didn’t. Playing with Hunter -and beating him- had reminded him of old days. He didn’t want to go back into that store and remember that he wasn’t who he used to be.

Tension crept into his shoulders and back. The wheelchair stopped and Hunter came around and crouched down so he was eye level with Fitz.

“So what’s the problem with going clothes shopping? I hate it, yeah? But it doesn’t make me clench up like I’ve broken something of Bob’s and she’s about to come into the room.”

“They’re not, uh, not right.” Fitz looked downwards.

“Right?” Hunter thought about it for a moment. “You know, Bob really likes to wear workout clothes, leggings and stuff, because she thinks they’re comfy. But she won’t wear them out in public or anything because she thinks she looks bad in them.” He paused for a moment. “I don’t care what she wears. Her ass looks good in just about anything.”

Fitz wrinkled his nose in half disgust, half amusement.

Hunter continued. “Your clothes don’t make you, man. You wear what you need. Your ass probably looks good in anything, too.”

This time Fitz just stared, not sure what to say. Eventually, he nodded. “I want to be… be… in- uh…”

“You’re gonna be independent, Fitz.” Hunter stood up and went to push the wheelchair again. They quickly spotted Bobbi carrying an armful of clothing- pants, shirts, and even underwear.

“I found this sweater I think you’re going to love.” Bobbi jumped right in as soon as they approached. “It’s soft, looks smart, and should be warm and cozy.” She held it out.

Slowly, Fitz reached out and took it. Bobbi was right- it was very soft and Fitz was sure it would be very comfortable to wear. Best of all, it seemed easy enough for him to put on by himself. “Let’s, uh, try it?” he suggested.

Bobbi smiled at Hunter, and then at Fitz. “Sure.”

As they wheeled down the aisle, Fitz spoke up again. “Hunter sucks at, uh, sucks at pinball. I beat him. He’s a… sore l-loser.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s okay, Fitz, it’s okay. I’ve got you and it’s okay.” May rubbed Fitz’ shoulder gently as she tried to position him in her lap. “Just try to breathe.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter was a very introspective, getting over some hurdles chapter. This chapter is straight whump. 
> 
> While searching for books on aphasia the other day, I found a bunch on seizures and my brain went, "You know what would be horrifically awesome? If Fitz had a seizure due to his hypoxic brain injury."
> 
> So that is what I did. Torture poor Fitz a little more.

“Take the chicken breast and flip it over.” May brandished a pair of tongs at her two recruits. “Rub it around a bit as you do so the sauce cover the chicken more.”

Skye turned back to the stove and expertly flipped over her chicken breast. “You know, cooking isn’t that hard,” she said as she pushed the food around the skillet. “I could totally become a chef. I bet if I practised a little more, I could even impress Gordon Ramsey. I’m that good.” As she said this, she pointed her own pair of tongs at May and ended up flinging some sautéed onion at the older agent.

The onion hit May directly in the chest. It stayed there for a moment, stuck to her shirt by the caramelization, before plopping wetly to the floor. Fitz lost it laughing. His own tongs nearly slipped out of his grasp.

Skye stood still for a moment, horrified, before she began to word-vomit. “Oh my God, May, I’m so sorry, I had no idea there was even food on the end-”

May held up her hand and Skye instantly fell quiet. “Fitz, flip your chicken before you cook it too much and it dries out.”

The engineer swallowed another giggle and turned his attention back to the stove. He gripped the tongs with both hands and –although not as smoothly as Skye had done- flipped the meat over. “I’m cleaner,” he bragged as he turned to Skye.

“Yeah, well, you’re older. You should be better at this kind of stuff.”

It fell silent.

Panic flashed across Skye’s face. “I’m so sorry, Fitz! It’s like my brain is running on autopilot today!”

“It’s fine, uh, yeah, it’s fine, really.” Fitz put a hand on Skye’s shoulder to demonstrate his sincerity. It wasn’t like she was trying to be mean, and sure, although it did sting a bit, she meant nothing by it. “So, we’ve got the… uh, got the chi-chi… meat, now what?”

“We’re going to start the salad while we let that cook for another couple of minutes. Fitz, you wash, dry, and rip up the lettuce, and Skye, please don’t cut off your fingers while you dice the tomato. I’m going to get a new shirt.”

Fitz snickered again, earning a glare from Skye. “Grab the lettuce, while… while you’re in, uh, in there, would you?” He barely caught the leafy head as it was chucked his way. “Thanks.”

As an unofficial part of his therapy, May and the others had been helping him learn everyday tasks, such as cooking and laundry, with the ultimate goal of him becoming independent. This week he was helping May cook dinner for the team.

Skye also joined in, saying she needed to learn how to cook food that wasn’t prepackaged and didn’t involve the microwave.

“Have you, uh, have you… loaded up the… the, uh…” Fitz trailed off as he washed the lettuce, the word stuck in his brain. He silently tried out a few different sounds.

Skye glanced over at him. “Sorry, you’re gonna have to give me more than that.”

“It’s, uh…” Fitz began to bounce on his toes, frustration trickling through his system. “The.. the…” He let out a low growl.

“Okay, deep breath.” May, who had returned from cleaning off her shirt, put a hand on Fitz’ shoulder. “It’s like playing a game of Taboo. Describe what you’re talking about.”

He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. Some of the tension dissipated from his shoulders. “On the screen, yeah? Red, uh, red suit…. Um, lightning…”

“Oh!” Skye smiled. “The Flash!”

“Yes! Did you, uh, did you load up The Flash?”

“It’s all ready to go after we eat.” She turned back to the tomatoes and began to slowly dice them once again, being very careful not to catch her fingers. “Coulson says we can watch it without him because he has a lot of work to do, but I think if we work together, we can cajole him into watching it tonight with us after dinner.”

A grunt and a thud caught both her and May’s attention.

The head of lettuce that Fitz had previously been washing rolled across the floor. 

“Fitz!”

May lunged forward as the engineer toppled sideways, his entire ride sight locked in a tight spasm. His eyes strained to the side and his mouth made odd chewing motions. Skye covered her mouth as another grunt escaped the engineer.

“It’s okay, Fitz, it’s okay. I’ve got you and it’s okay.” May rubbed Fitz’ shoulder gently as she tried to position him in her lap. “Just try to breathe.”

Hours after the initial accident, Fitz had suffered a series of tonic-clonic seizures that required large doses of anti-epileptic drugs to stop. He continued taking them afterwards, in lower doses, and very rarely had seizures. Skye had never been around to witness one until now.

May continued speaking calmly to Fitz. She looked up briefly to see that Skye was frozen in terror. “Complex partial seizure. He’ll come around in a minute. Turn off the stove before we set off the fire alarm.”

For a moment, all Skye could do was stare at the pair on the floor. She snapped out of it. “Right, turning off the stove.” She quickly flipped off all the knobs. “Should I get someone? Do something?”

“We just have to wait it out. He’ll be disoriented when he wakes up and will probably want to sleep.”

Skye crouched down and tentatively reached out and put a hand on Fitz’ shoulder. She winced as he grunted again. “That looks painful,” she said as she motioned towards the clenched arm and leg.

“It is, but he won’t remember.” 

May continued to speak softly to Fitz, and after a long minute and twenty seconds, his right side unclenched and his eyelids fluttered closed. 

Skye sat back slightly. “So, that’s it?”

“Like I said,” May reiterated, “it’ll take a minute for him to wake up, and he’ll be confused and just want to go to sleep again. I need you to go and get Mack so we can get Fitz to his room.”

The words were barely out of May’s mouth before Skye raced out the door, yelling for Mack. May just shook her head. That kid was way too excitable. 

A groan from Fitz caught her attention. “You okay, Fitz?”

“Bloody hell,” he slurred, raising a shaky hand to his face. He groaned again.

May put her hand on his shoulder to let him know she was there. “Fitz, it’s May. You had a seizure. We’re in the kitchen on base.” He didn’t seem to hear her, but she let the words hang in the air for a moment before speaking again. “Fitz?” She gently touched his cheek.

The touch startled him. His training kicked in and he lashed out, catching May in the mouth with his weakly aimed fist.

“Woah, woah!” May put up her hands to block anymore errant fists. “Fitz, Fitz, listen to me. It’s May. You’re alright, but you’ve had a seizure.”

He closed his eyes, then slowly opened them, looking around. He seemed confused. “May?” he asked.

“It’s alright, Fitz.” She placed a hand tentatively on his shoulder, glad when he didn’t react poorly. “You’re okay.”

His mouth moved awkwardly for a minute. “Tired,” he eventually got out. His eyes slid closed again.

“Mack’s coming to help you to bed.” When she got a grunt in reply, she continued. “You’re safe, don’t worry.”

Mack got there seconds later, and was understandably very concerned. Fitz was asleep again and barely stirred when he was picked up bridal style and carried off to his room. Skye followed after them with everything she thought Fitz might want- water, aspirin, his IPad, and the stuffed monkey that for some reason lived on the top of the refrigerator.

The room fell silent.

Dinner. May still needed to cook dinner.

She slowly pulled herself up off the floor and leant against the counter. A couple deep breaths helped clear her mind and calm her heart. The head of lettuce under the table had her heart racing again. She hated this.

And to top it all off, Grant Ward was being transferred into their basement prison.

That bastard.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thunderstorms don't scare Fitz. But Fitz is scared he may never improve beyond his current state.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, how many months has it been since I've posted anything? I don't even want to count... anyways, here I am, back at it with another chapter of Fitz being the badass we all know he is.
> 
> Please enjoy and try not to feel so many feels that you need a tissue.

Though the base was underground, the loud rumble of thunder somehow made its way from the angry sky all the way through the dirt and rock of the waterlogged earth. The SHIELD base shook and trembled unnervingly.

Fitz lay in his bed, listening, feeling. He didn't mind the rain or the thunder. It actually reminded him of Scotland- his home. Jemma, though, Jemma disliked thunderstorms with a passion. She would quake with every rumble, shudder when lightning cracked across the clouds. Every time it stormed, Fitz would find himself in Jemma’s room with a blanket and her favourite season of Doctor Who.

Footsteps padded quickly past the engineer’s room and a minute later, a door slammed in the distance. Someone was up.

Fitz sighed as another rumble of thunder shook the base. Sure, he didn’t mind thunderstorms, but there was no way he was going to be able to sleep through this. Might as well get some IPad time in. Skye had helped him download a bunch of brain training apps on the tablet in hopes that he would be able to train his brain to make connections faster.

So far, the games and challenges were ridiculously annoying- mostly because even reading the instructions were difficult enough. But he intended to work at them, get better with them. He felt as if he had begun to plateau in his recovery. Part of him was worried that his current state was his final state, that his brain was too damaged to heal more.

He moped about that for less than a day before Bobbi took him aside and scolded him. She said that if he thought this was as far as he was going to get, then it was as far as he was going to get. If he wanted to improve more, he had to believe he was going to improve more.

Which is how he ended up with a number of brain training apps on his specially made IPad.

A knock on his door startled him out of a number memory exercise.

“Yeah?” he called out softly.

The door opened a crack to revel Skye. “Hey, I saw you logged into the game servers. Mind if I join you?” She held up her own laptop.

“Uh, sure.” Fitz shifted so that he was sitting closer to the side of his bed. He wasn’t sure whether it was weird or not that Skye wanted to join him in his room very late- er, early, in the morning. Either way, he was happy for the company. “Did you want- want to uh, play a-a… play a…” It was late, he was tired, and his meds had worn off.

Skye glanced over at him, concern fliting across her face at his more stilted than normal speech. “Play against each other?”

“Yeah, yeah, that.” His IPad dinged, letting him know the timer for the challenge he had been doing had run out. “I, uh, know I c-c, _won’t_ beat you…” he trailed off, forgetting where he wanted to go with that phrase.

The bed fit both of them comfortably side by side, with enough room that they weren’t quite touching. “It’s a ridiculous hour. Who knows what might happen.”

They feel into a comfortable silence as they played, Skye not trying very hard but absolutely smashing Fitz’ score every single game. He didn’t mind, though, as the competition gave him something to strive towards.

“You know, I’ve been looking at your progress chart.”

Fitz looked up from the screen. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Skye gently tapped at her keyboard and did not look up to meet Fitz’ eyes. “Science isn’t really my thing, especially medicine and brain damage and rehabilitation.” There was a low rumble of thunder, and just for a moment, Skye tensed, but was relaxed again before Fitz could even comprehend the minute movement. “If Jemma were here-”

“Just tell me.” The way she was rambling on, he knew it couldn’t be good.

Skye did look up then, her eyes dark. “Maybe Coulson or Mack or…” She trailed off. “You’re not improving, Fitz. Actually, since you had to go on more seizure meds, your scores have decreased.”

Everything in him screeched to a halt. This was… this was worse than he’d thought, imagined, _ever._ Fitz’ worst nightmares were where he plateaued, where he never got past this point. But to _regress?_ To lose some of the small functionality he had left? This was beyond what he’d imagined.

A hand on his arm grounded him. “Fitz, Fitz, you gotta breathe.”

The shaky breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding tumbled out. He turned to Skye. “Uh, right, yeah, it’s no big… no big, uh…”

“No big deal,” she finished for him. “Hopefully your seizure activity will decrease, and then Bobbi can decrease the meds, and you’ll get better again.”

_Get better again,_ he thought sourly. _I’m useless. I’m regressing and I’m useless._

A sudden crack of thunder jolted through the base and Skye jumped, latop clattering to the floor. “Ha, okay… that one was a little close.” She laughed nervously. “It’s just the rapid expansion of air following a lightning strike, but you already knew that.” A shiver ran through her body, and a pang of sympathy shot through Fitz, his own plight already forgotten.

“Hey, uh, knowing the science, it, uh, it, well, doesn’t m-m… make it any less, sc-sc-sc… scary.” He reached out and put his hand on her shoulder, frowning slightly when he felt how tense she was. “Loud noises cause, uh, in some, some people, l-loud noises…”

“I’ve never liked loud noises, you know?” Skye turned her head down and away from the engineer. “There was a guy in one of my foster homes who liked to use loud noises as punishments. Knock a glass over at dinner?” She laughed harshly. “He’d smash his fists on the table. Never touched us kids, but beat up pretty much everything around us. Ever since then, I guess I’ve been pretty much terrified of loud noises.”

The sounds of rain pounding on the ground above them was momentarily distracting for Fitz, but he welcomed the minute to be allowed to think. He felt for Skye, he really did. Every cell in his body ached with compassion for her.

Whenever Simmons was upset, they’d talk through the problem logically, and then they’d go for ice cream and Doctor Who. If she was in a really bad way, they’d go for Firefly. But he didn’t think that was the answer with Skye. Not only could he not form a logical sentence right now for the life of him, he didn’t think that Skye revealing something obviously very personal to her should be followed up with, “Rose, Martha, or Donna?”

Another rumble of thunder shook the base and Skye inhaled sharply, leaning into Fitz’ small touch. He took this cue to wrap an arm around her.

As the thunder continued to rumble, Fitz just sat there, arm around Skye, not saying a word. He didn’t need words. All he needed at this moment was to be there for her, and to let her know that someone cared. At some point, Skye lay her head down on his shoulder and curled her legs up underneath her.

By the time the thunder had finally stopped, Fitz was falling asleep. His body listed sideways, and as much as he had been holding up Skye before, she was now holding him up more.

“Hey,” she finally said, breaking the long- but comfortable- silence. “Uh, thanks.”

He smiled at her, deciding not to even try speaking while half asleep.

“I’m gonna head back to my room, I think… here, let me help you.” With a bit of manhandling, half-asleep Fitz ended back in bed, under the covers, IPad on the bedside table.  Skye turned to leave, but paused at the door. “You’re a good friend, Fitz, just how you are.” With that, she was gone.

His pillow was so comfy, the blankets so cozy. But as he finally fell asleep, Fitz smiled. _Scores be damned,_ he thought. _My bloody brain can still do something right._


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Let-let me go! You bloody-" There was a shout, and then another loud thud.
> 
> Fitz is left alone on base for the first time since his accident. During a check-in call Skye makes to him, she hears what is the unmistakable sound of Fitz being attacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look! I'm back!
> 
> I had so much fun writing this chapter. In a very me-like fashion, I wrote this because I have three exams coming up this week and I don't want to be studying, so I decided to do something semi-productive instead.
> 
> If you don't know what Judoon are, watch this clip- https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tJ_pj31YdrY

Coulson glanced up from his tablet to look at Skye. “Have you checked in with Fitz yet?”

“You asked me like, 5 minutes ago. Calm down.” Skye didn’t turn to look at the older man. She was staring out the window of the plane, pointedly ignoring May, who had given her a talking to just minutes earlier about the proper use of the airplane’s computers. “He’s fine. I know it’s the first time we’ve left him alone-alone, but he’ll be fine.”

“With Hunter, Bobbi, and Mack dealing with an 0-8-4, I didn’t see we had much choice when our network was knocked down.” He paused. “May’s here to pilot, you’re here to fix the network, and I’m here to be the voice of reason.”

“You? The voice of reason?” A dry response floated down from the cockpit where May sat. “Let me know when that happens.”

He glared up towards her before turning his attention back to Skye. “With the network down, we can’t monitor him via the security cameras. I’m worried he’ll have a seizure when he’s by himself.”

Skye rolled her eyes, but pulled out her phone. “I’m calling him right now. Relax.” As much as she acted nonchalantly about leaving Fitz alone, a band of worry had been sitting tight around her chest since they left the base. She knew Fitz would be fine by himself for a couple hours, but… there were just so many things that could go wrong. Fitz had become increasingly independent in prior months, but it was still a gamble leaving him completely alone.

The phone rang, and it rang, and just when Skye was starting to worry, there was the click of it being answered. “Skye?”

“Fitz, hey.” She leaned over and gave Coulson a thumbs up. “AC here wanted me to check in on you, see how it goes at home base.”

“Uh, yeah, good. You know… Doctor, uh, Doctor Who.”

“Ooh! Which episode?”

“Space Rhinos.”

“I love that one!” A wave from May caught her attention. “Hey, one second.” She lowered her voice. “I think May wants to yell at me again.”

May let out a silent sigh. “Has he taken his meds?”

“May wants to know if you’ve taken your meds yet.” The plane hit a small patch of turbulence, and Skye frantically grasped the handle on the roof, even though she was strapped in. “Oh, and she’ll probably want to know if you actually ate the dinner she left out for you.”

The was a shuffling sound on the other end of the phone. “Yeah, I took my meds.” The odd noises continued, and Fitz let out a shaky breath.

“Uh, okay. But did you eat the food she left out for you? Because I know you have a habit of not eating when no one is around.”

“That’s, uh, that’s what… that’s what I’m going-” Crash!

Skye surged forwards, only to be jolted back by the straps of the plane seat. “Fitz? Fitz? Are you okay? What’s going on?!” Through the phone she could hear the distant sound of Fitz breathing too fast, and what sounded like a struggle.

Coulson looked up in concern at Skye’s. “What’s going on?”

“I don’t know, there was this really loud crash and then-” She pulled the phone back to her ear. “Fitz, Fitz, can you hear me? Are you okay?”

“Is he having a seizure?” May’s voice once again floated down from the cockpit, but this time there was a note of worry in it. “What do you hear?”

The engines of the plane were quite loud, and Skype blocked the ear not against the phone in an attempt to hear better. What she heard distantly through the tinny speakers of the phone made her stomach drop into her boots.

“Let-let me go! You bloody-” There was a shout, and then another loud thud.

Skye paled. “Oh my God, I think someone’s broken into the base and is attacking him!” She yanked her laptop out of the backpack that was strapped into the seat beside her. “Damn it! I can’t even check the security cameras!”

“May!” Coulson yelled. “Get back to base now! I’m calling it! We’re aborting this mission!”

The plane turned sharply and Skye almost lost the hold on both the phone and her computer. Coulson, however was unfazed by the sudden change of direction. Then again, he was used to flying with May.

Coulson’s eyebrows were so low on his face that they threatened to become part of his eyelashes, his lips so thin they nearly disappeared. “Give me the phone,” he said sharply. Skye complied by tossing it to him. He put it up against his ear. “Fitz, are you there? What’s going on?”

A crash punctuated Coulson’s questioning. Then came, “I’m, I’m stronger- bloody hell! Let go!”

“Okay, I agree with Skye, Fitz is under attack.” He turned towards May. “How fast can we get there?”

White fingers curled around the steering controls. “We’re over an hour away with this headwind, no matter how hard I push it.” She fell silent for a moment in a very May-like way. “Can you patch the phone into the audio system, Skye, so we can all hear what’s going on?”

Skye looked over to Coulson and nodded. “Yeah, that’s a good idea.” She unbuckled her seatbelt as Coulson tossed her the phone and gingerly made her way up to the cockpit. The small plane still seemed to be jerking around somewhat, even if they were now flying in a straight line.

After a minute of fiddling, Skye had her cell phone hooked up to the audio system of the airplane. Fitz’s now laboured breaths filled the cabin.

May’s face hardened. Then, over the audio, came the low grumble of a voice, and the sound of boots marching. “Should we recall the others?” she asked. “I’m picking up at least ten bodies.”

“I can’t make out what they’re saying, but it’s a definite British accent.” Coulson was on his tablet, tapping out message, presumably to the other half of the team that were dealing with an 0-8-4. “Hydra? They could have knocked out our network and then waited until we left to fix it to break in.”

“Whoever they are, they’re good enough to get past all the security Mack and I installed.” Skye made her way back to her seat and began to tap furiously on her laptop keyboard.

A few terse minutes passed, and then suddenly, the sound of Fitz struggling abruptly halted. Coulson look up from his tablet and frowned. “Skye? Where’d the audio go?”

“I didn’t do- one sec,” she said. “It’s still going through, Coulson. You can hear him breathing, but he’s stopped fighting against-” She swallowed hard. “Oh my God, what if they knocked him out? They can’t do that! What if they-”

The plane fell silent.

“May?” Face hard and eyes dark, Coulson glanced up towards the cavalry. “Go faster.”

 

The door to the base swung open nearly silently. In crept Coulson and May, guns drawn, eyes narrowed. Coulson signaled for May to go one direction while he went the other. Skye stayed just outside the door, checking the security systems.

The hallway was bright and quiet, and Coulson strained to hear anything at all, but he could hear nothing. That was odd for a break-in. Once the assailants had realized that the only person on base was Fitz, and had…dealt with him, they would have no reason to be quiet. It’s not like anyone would have heard them. Unless they had already come and gone…

Coulson came to the door of the common room. He paused by the doorway, took a deep breath, and then stepped into the room. The harsh florescent lights glinted off the barrel of his very real, and definitely lethal gun. He stepped around the static-playing television.

“Fitz!” Coulson fought to keep his voice low. There, on the floor between the couch and the coffee table lay the engineer in a heap. A blanket was tangled around his legs and his eyes were closed. Taking one last cursory glance around the room, Coulson dove to his knees beside the fallen man. “Fitz, can you hear me?”

As he reached out and gently touched the man, Fitz stirred awake.

“Hm?” Fitz turned his head and blinked owlishly at Coulson. “Oh, you’re, uh, you came.” He paused. “There was, was a… uh… a-”

“Are you hurt? Let me help you.” Coulson grabbed Fitz by the shoulders and hauled him up into a sitting position against the couch. “Where did they hit you? Did they tranquilize you?”

“What?” A look of confusion crossed Fitz’ face. “I, uh, the bloody-”

“Fitz.” May came into the room at that moment, followed closely by Skye. “Building’s clear. There’s no sign of any intruders or what they came here for.” She dropped down beside the two men. “How is he?”

The look of confusion on Fitz’ face deepened. “Wha’?”

Skye knelt down. “We heard the crash, and then you fighting them.” She paused. “I guess those lessons May has been giving you has really paid off. I don’t see a single scratch on you. Nicely done.”

“Why would- I…” Fitz looked at the trio. “I’m, uh… I’m confused. Intruders?” He gave them a wary look. “Do you, um, do you know something….”

“We heard you fighting someone, Fitz.” Now Coulson was confused as well. “You were on the phone talking to Skye when she heard a crash. We then heard you yelling and struggling along with the sounds of British intruders?”

A loud bark of laughter tumbled out of Fitz’ mouth. “You… you…” he managed to get out between giggles. “You thought….”

“We thought what?” May prompted.

“I, uh, I tr-tripped.” Another bark of laughter escaped the engineer. “I was, uh, walking without… without…” He flapped his arm towards his walker, abandoned on the other side of the room. “The blanket was around… my l-legs. It tripped me.”

Coulson thought back to how he had found Fitz, blanket tanged around his legs as he lay wedged between the couch and the coffee table. “You tripped on the blanket because you were walking without your walker.” He paused. “And you got stuck between the couch and the table?”

“Bloody blanket.” Fitz was still trying to contain his giggles. “I, uh, I couldn’t get up. My f-feet, were… were, uh… not working. I tried to get out.”

“Which was the struggling we heard.” Skye sat back a little. “You were yelling at the blanket?”

“And the table.”

Holstering her also very real gun, May lifted an eyebrow. “And where did the phone go?” She followed Fitz’ arm as he pointed. “Over there.” The phone lay under the table a couple feet away, looking abandoned and forlorn by itself. “You dropped it when you fell, and it slid across the floor out of your reach.”

Skye retrieved it and hung up the call. “You went quiet after a few minutes, and we thought you had been knocked out.” Or worse, she finished silently.

“Tired,” Fitz said. “Blanket was, uh, w…warm.”

“And you fell asleep,” Coulson finished for him.

“Uh… yeah. Sorry.”

Without warning, Coulson let out a snort of laughter. Then, it was full blown and contagious. Even May was smiling. “Whew,” he said after a minute. “There was a moment back there on the plane where I thought I had lost you.”

“You need to use your damn walker, Leopold,” May said sternly. “You sacred us all.”

Fitz grinned. “I was, uh, I was on my way to eat. Can we…?” He tried to pull himself up, but the blanket was still around his legs and all he managed to do was twist himself awkwardly around. “Um… a little help?” he asked.

Coulson and May hauled him up to his feet and the blanket fell to the floor. Skye retrieved his walker and they headed over to the kitchen where the dinner May had set out for Fitz still sat untouched.

“What were the footsteps and the British voices?” Coulson asked suddenly.

A blush spread across Fitz’ face. “Judoon.”

Skye lost it laughing.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Christmas time at the base! The only hurdle?
> 
> Wrapping presents.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy holidays, everyone!
> 
> I was listening to Christmas music while studying for exams, and in a typical avoidance way, I came up with a great idea for a chapter. This is pure Christmas fluff. I know. I wrote more fluff. I'm becoming soft in my old age.

A sigh of frustration broke over the sound of gentle Christmas music. In the middle of the floor sat Fitz, surrounded by crumpled bits of wrapping paper and discarded pieces of tape. “Damn,” he whispered. An errant piece of tape clung to his palm. 

It was nearly Christmas, and surprisingly, it had been quiet around the base. It was almost as if the bad guys were taking the holidays off. The team (read; Skye) took advantage of this by absolutely covering the base in decorations, to the point that Coulson threatened to call Fury if someone didn’t remove the singing snowman from his office.

(Strangely enough, no one made any comment when that particular snowman ended up as a target on the gun range.)

Everything was nearly perfect… nearly. Fitz had everyone’s presents. Bobbi had helped him do a bit of online shopping, and with just days left before the big day, he was almost ready.

Almost in that sticky tape and wrapping paper were difficult. Even before his fine motor control failed him, Fitz had been… adequate at wrapping presents. There was just some sort of technique he never managed to get down. Simmons, on the other hand, wrapped all her presents like she was presenting them to the bloody queen, fancy bows and all.

“Would you… gah!” The tape stuck to his palm refused to budge. Fitz flailed his hand around. “Come on, you b-bastard.”

“Uh, everything alright in there?”

His eyes grew wide as he heard Skye right outside his door. “Fine!” he hollered. “Just, uh, just fine!”

There was a moment of silence. “Are you sure? Like, should I go and get May or someone? I mean, I have seen you in… compromising situations, but I really could just go and get May or Bobbi or Mack or really anyone.”

He looked down at the tape stuck on his hand, and then around to all the unwrapped presents scattered across his floor. “One… one minute.” Skye could help him. Skye would definitely love to help him wrap presents, and as long as he hid her present and just did it himself later…

Fitz lunged across the floor and grabbed the soft, purple sweater he and Bobbi had decided on. He just needed to store it somewhere… except now he was in an awkward position on the floor. Perfect.

“Fitz?”

“Bloody hell.” Where could it go? Suddenly, Fitz spied his hamper across the room, and pretty much dragged himself on his belly over to it, where he unceremoniously dumped the sweater into it. “Okay… come in!”

Skye peered into the room hesitantly. “Oh, you’re clothed.”

“Yes, yes I’m clothed,” Fitz said with an almost indignant look about his face. “I can, uh, I can… you know… uh, dress myself.”

“You were being cagey!” Skye retorted. “I didn’t know what was going on in here. I could just hear you going on about something!” 

“Tape.” He held up his hand. “I can’t… um, help please?”

A smirk crossed the hacker’s face. But, she complied and peeled the tape off Fitz’ hand. “Hey, do you need help wrapping?”

He gave her a smile in response.

“Look,” she said, “if we’re going to wrap presents, we’re going to do this the right way.”

 

“This is, uh, is really g-good hot… chocolate.” Fitz gave her a nod as he took another sip from his travel mug. “What did you, uh, put in it?”

“You want me to share my secret ingredient?” Skye glanced up from the box she was wrapping and faked a shocked look. “A chef never reveals their secret ingredients! Hand me a piece of tape, would you?” As he complied, she continued. “If you must know, I made it properly, by boiling milk and melting chocolate in.”

“It t-t-tastes fant-tastic.” His bedroom was now only lit by the garish strings of lights Skye had strung everywhere. It was actually okay as a light source. There were that many strands and they were that bright.

“Oh, and mine has some whiskey in it.” She winked at him. “Don’t tell Coulson, he still thinks I’m too young for it.”

The two lapsed into a comfortable silence, the only sounds between them the Christmas music Skye had insisted she turn up to an unreasonable volume, and the crinkle of wrapping paper. 

Eventually, Fitz spoke up. “How does, you know, uh… ss…” He stopped, eyes narrowing as his brain and mouth failed to connect.

“Describe it.” The team had found it useful in the recent months to ask Fitz to describe something when he got really stuck. Not only did it alleviate some stress for the engineer, but it also helped with the flow of conversations.

“Uh, big. Red. Um… fat.”

“Go on,” Skye prodded.

“Ss… uh rein-reindeer?”

“Ooh!” The empty wrapping paper roll went flying across the room as Skye raised her hand. “What is Santa Claus?”

“Yes!” Fitz smiled at her exuberance. “How does Santa… get in here?”

She thought about it for a moment. “Well, I don’t think it’s an issue of not having a fireplace, because lots of the foster homes I lived in didn’t have a chimney, but somehow, he always came. I think it’s an issue of living in a secret base.”

He nodded. “Secret… does Santa know where we live?”

Quicker than a blink, Skye whipped out her phone and dialed a number. The person on the other end picked it up after a couple rings. “Hey,” she greeted. “We got a bit of sitch down in Fitz’ room.” She paused. “I can’t call May, this is an emergency that only you can deal with. Mack’s off base, and Hunter is a little iffy with these things…. Yeah, quick as you can.” She hung up the phone, satisfied.

“Uh… who was that?” Fitz was a little confused. Hadn’t they just been discussing how Santa could find a secret base?

“I called in the expert in this matter.” Skye calmly picked up the next present in the pile and began to size it for wrapping paper. “He’ll be down in just a minute… but I may have told him it was an emergency, so he might be upset.”

“What?”

Right on cue, the door to Fitz’ room flung open.

“Fitz? Skye?”

Skye lifted her hand in greeting, but didn’t look up from her task. “Hey, A.C.”

Coulson lifted an eyebrow. “This looks like a real emergency, Skye. I was a little busy.” He turned to Fitz. “Are you okay?”

Fitz gave the director a thumbs up.

“We have a question, a very pressing question.” Skye stopped cutting. “How is Santa going to find us? I mean, we’re a secret base. I don’t even know how to find us.”

Eyes narrowed slightly, Coulson sighed. “Santa will find us. Don’t worry.” He gave Skye a glare before turning back to Fitz. “If she’s holding you here against your will, I can fix that.”

“I needed, uh, I needed help with… with…” Fitz clenched his fists as yet another word escaped him.

“Wrapping presents is a bitch, you know?” Skye reached out and put a hand on his arm. “I bet Coulson wraps them perfectly. Edges so straight that even Mr. Engineer over couldn’t find a fault with them. In fact…” -looking behind her, she found Mack’s present- “bet you could even wrap this one and make it look nice.”

Coulson looked long and hard at her. “Fine,” he acquiesced, “but this is for Fitz, not you.” He took the wrench and sat down on the floor across from the two. “It’s for Mack, even. But definitely not for people who cry wolf.”

Skye grinned. “Perfect. I’m going to get more hot chocolate. You boys play nice now.”

It was quiet for a moment as Coulson searched the paper-ridden ground for a pair of scissors. “She really does like the holidays,” he said eventually.

“Like a, uh, an elf or something.” Fitz’ eyes grew wide and he scrambled over to his book case and pulled himself up to his knees. “Elf!”

“Elf?” Coulson looked up at him, confused. 

Fingers ran across rows of DVDs and books as Fitz searched, focused. A minute later, a triumphant cry arose from him and he pulled a DVD off the shelf. “Elf!”

“Elf the movie.” Coulson nodded. “That was a tradition with you and Simmons, right?”

Fitz looked down at the DVD in his hands. “Yeah.” In his sudden hype at remembering the Christmas movie, he had forgotten that Simmons wasn’t there to watch it with him. 

Suddenly, the DVD seemed much less appealing. He tried to slide it back into place on his shelf, but found his hands to be suddenly shaking.

“You know, I think Skye wanted to do a movie night with everyone.” Coulson was suddenly right beside Fitz at the bookshelf. The older man gently took the DVD from Fitz’ shaking hands. “I bet this would make the perfect movie.”

Skye walked in. “Hey, brought you some hot chocolate, Coulson.” 

He motioned for her to come over. “Fitz found the perfect movie for tonight.”

“Wait.” Skye grabbed the DVD from Coulson. “You mean you’re actually gonna come?”

Coulson tilted his head slightly. “Behind my tough exterior, I really am just a teddy bear.”

 

Fitz looked around him. The common room was glowing softly from the tasteful lights May had helped Skye put up. A large mug of Skye’s delicious hot chocolate sat beside him, as did a bowl of popcorn.

All available couches, chairs, and floor space was taken up by the team. Fitz was wedged in between Skye and Mack, a fuzzy blanket thrown over all three. Fitz was actually more falling onto Mack as the movie progressed and he fell more and more asleep.

He looked up from the screen and locked eyes with Coulson. The director smiled, raised his mug of probably alcoholic hot chocolate, and took a sip. 

Fitz smiled, and let himself fall more on Mack.


	10. Chapter 10 (Interlude)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beginnings of chapters I never finished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is chapter isn't in the timeline of the story. In fact, it's all the chapters I started, and then discarded for various reasons, usually because I was lazy.
> 
> I don't know when I'll write a real new chapter, but in the meantime, have some stories I started, and then stopped.

**The one where Fitz gets angry about something and destroys the lab. Hunter was supposed to come and find him and… make him feel better, I guess.**

Anger surged up Fitz’ chest, a red-hot flash that penetrated his very being, and he lashed out. A nearby beaker went flying to the floor where it smashed into a million shards of glass.

He swung out again, and again, and again, lab equipment hitting the floor and walls indiscriminately.

“Fitz!”

Someone yelled his name, but he was too far gone to register it. He pushed his arms out, hitting a stack of books off the lab bench.

 

* * *

 

 

**The one where Fitz saves the whole base. From what, you ask? I have no idea. How? Again, no idea.**

Fitz woke up from napping with a feeling of dread in his stomach.

At first, he couldn’t figure out why. He napped pretty much every day, often twice a day, and he was even in his bed this time. He once fell asleep on the couch and was startled awake by Skye accidentally setting off the fire alarm.

So by his standards, this was quite a pleasant wake up. No one was yelling, the base wasn’t on fire, and-

There was a dull thud from somewhere across the base, and Fitz frowned. What were they doing out there? As Fitz was heading to his room, Coulson had said something about a group meeting to deal with some administrative stuff.

Another louder thud jolted him out of his thoughts. Okay, something weird was going on. He threw the covers off of himself and pulled himself out of the bed, and using his furniture to keep balanced, made it across the room to his door.

It was locked.

From the outside.

“What?” He tried the doorknob again. Definitely locked. “Hey!” he yelled, then again, louder. “Hey!” He began to bang on the door. “Skye, this isn’t… it isn’t, you know, funny!”

But no one answered his cries. Frustrated, Fitz grabbed his IPad off his dresser and started to type an angry message before a symbol in the corner caught his eye. He had no signal.

Something was very, very wrong.

Up until this point, the thuds had been intermittent, but they began to increase in frequency. Fitz’ heart also began to race.

 

 

* * *

 

 

**The one where Fitz saves the whole base. From what, you ask? I have no idea. How? Again, no idea.**

Fitz woke up from napping with a feeling of dread in his stomach.

At first, he couldn’t figure out why. He napped pretty much every day, often twice a day, and he was even in his bed this time. He once fell asleep on the couch and was startled awake by Skye accidentally setting off the fire alarm.

So by his standards, this was quite a pleasant wake up. No one was yelling, the base wasn’t on fire, and-

There was a dull thud from somewhere across the base, and Fitz frowned. What were they doing out there? As Fitz was heading to his room, Coulson had said something about a group meeting to deal with some administrative stuff.

Another louder thud jolted him out of his thoughts. Okay, something weird was going on. He threw the covers off of himself and pulled himself out of the bed, and using his furniture to keep balanced, made it across the room to his door.

It was locked.

From the outside.

“What?” He tried the doorknob again. Definitely locked. “Hey!” he yelled, then again, louder. “Hey!” He began to bang on the door. “Skye, this isn’t… it isn’t, you know, funny!”

But no one answered his cries. Frustrated, Fitz grabbed his IPad off his dresser and started to type an angry message before a symbol in the corner caught his eye. He had no signal.

Something was very, very wrong.

Up until this point, the thuds had been intermittent, but they began to increase in frequency. Fitz’ heart also began to race.

 

* * *

 

 

**The one where Fitz examines some metal, and demonstrates his usefulness to the team. And that’s all I remember.**

“Copper, it’s copper.” Fitz examined a piece of metal Coulson had picked up on his latest mission. “Well, it’s uh, it’s not.. from… uh, not from Earth.”

                “Not from Earth?” Coulson’s eyebrow’s knitted together like they did whenever he was surprised. The head of Shield thought he had an unreadable face, but if you were as detail-oriented as Fitz, you noticed these kinds of things. “How can you tell just by looking at it?”

                Bobbi breezed into the room at that moment. “Hey, Fitz, Coulson.”

                “Bobbi.”

 

* * *

 

 

**The one where Fitz has a seizure while watching TV with Coulson. I started this one before I wrote the seizure chapter that ended up in the actual story, but I gave up on this one because I didn’t like where it was going. He was also going to have a tonic-clonic seizure in this fic, but I decided I wanted him to have a complex partial.**

“I’m, uh, all…all- fine by myself.” Fitz gave a look to the older man occupying the seat next to him. The television was turned on to the news, quietly relaying the weather forecast. “I don’t need, uh, I don’t need…” He trailed off.

“I know you don’t need a babysitter, Fitz.” Coulson didn’t even turn to look at the engineer. “I enjoy it when it’s quiet on base. I’m used to hearing people yelling all the time.”

Coulson had a good point. While the mood on base was not as tense as it had been in previous months, there still tended to be an awful lot of yelling. Unless you were talking about May. May didn’t yell, she just spoke in a very scary tone of voice that warned everyone on base to get out of her way or potentially lose a finger.

Coulson had decided to let the team head out while the bus was undergoing repairs. Fitz was the only one who had stayed behind, citing he had no where to go.

Really, Coulson knew it was because Fitz was still embarrassed of his limitations. He struggled to speak, and still needed a wheelchair for any long distance. Bedtime for him was usually before eight, and he often took naps. In other words, although he was healing, he was still a long way off where he wanted to be.

“As riveting as the weather in Connecticut is, I’m sure we would both enjoy watching something else,” Coulson said dryly as he fished the remote out from between the couch cushions. “Any requests?”

As the man flipped through the channels, Fitz shook his head.

“Hm.” The flipping paused. “You ever seen _The Princess Bride?_ ” When Fitz shook his head once again, Coulson raised an eyebrow. “You’ve never seen _The Princess Bride?_ In that case, you are in for a real treat.”

For the next ten minutes, both men were engrossed in the antics of Westley in his quest to find and recapture the princess. Fitz was pleasantly surprised at how much he was enjoying himself. Generally, he usually only enjoyed science fiction shows, but _The Princess Bride_ was really quite enjoyable. Funny, but in a clever way, not a silly way.

Fitz’ fingers began to tingle halfway through the Fire Swamp scene. Frowning, he shifted his arm and turned back to television. But within moments the tingling had spread to his palm, and then to his wrist.

A copper taste rose in the back of his throat and Fitz knew he was in trouble. He tried to turn to Coulson and say something, anything, but his vocal folds wouldn’t cooperate. His vision faded and the sweet sound of Buttercup’s voice rose to a high-pitched buzz.

And everything faded away.

 

* * *

 

 

**The one where Fitz gets overwhelmed by noise and everything when his team is very drunk. I think I was going to make him have a panic attack because his damaged brain struggles to cope with all the input? I’m a terrible person.**

“…that’s when our mother found us.” Mack shook his head as he finished, chuckling. “I don’t think Ruben or I saw daylight for the next three months!”

The team was in stiches. Even the usually stoic May had cracked a smile and was shaking her head. It was after the weekly team dinner (that had at some point become more of a triweekly thing) and everyone sat around on the couches, enjoying each other’s company.

It had been a long week. There had been an unexpected rash of 0-8-4s that all seemed to be deadly and potentially Earth ending, and even Coulson was frazzled by the time Friday rolled around. As a general rule, weekends were for resting, but 0-8-4s didn’t observe the sanctity of the weekend.

All in all, the team really needed some time to blow off steam.

“I think our mother was ready to pull her hair out by the time we were allowed back on our bikes. Which we then lost the privilege of after I dared Ruben to ride off a small cliff and he broke his arm.” Mack chuckled to himself.

Beer halfway to his lips, Hunter raised an eyebrow. “Who knew you were such a daredevil, Mack.” Everyone was relaxed on the couches, beers in hand as the television relayed the most recent football game.

Well, everyone was drinking except for Fitz. Alcohol didn’t mix well with his meds, and as much as he enjoyed drinking, he didn’t mind. A warm, sweet mug of tea was fantastic in his book any day.

Skye put her drink down on the table. “What about you, AC?” she asked. “You’ve told us about some of the stuff you and fancy-shmancy Hawkeye got up to. What about when you were a kid? Where you as agent-y as you are now?”

“I bet he was born an agent,” Hunter commented. “Came out wearing sunglasses with the handbook memorized.”

“That would have been Fury, actually.” Coulson let one of his rare, genuine smiles take over his face. After his third beer, he had loosened up, stories and laughter flowing easily from his usually tight lips. “I met that motherfucker when we were barely out of college, and he already had that air of mystery.”

 

* * *

 

**The one where Fitz hallucinates Simmons for the first time. That’s all I have to say about that one.**

Fitz was concentrating so hard on not dropping the large screwdriver he was trying to work with that he missed Mack coming up behind him.

“How’s it coming, Turbo?”

Fitz jumped, the screwdriver falling out of his grasp. “Yeah, uh, it’s coming.” The piece of machinery in front of him was partially disassembled, bits and pieces laying everywhere. But there did seem to be an order to it all. There was a plastic container to the left of the engineer that held all the screws he had taken out and the other pieces appeared to be in order of when he’d taken them out. “The, uh, yeah. It’s coming. The screwdriver is a little, di-di… hard to use.”

Mack clapped a hand on Fitz’ shoulder. “I’m gonna go make a sandwich. You want one?”

Was it lunchtime already? Fitz peered down at his watch, staring at it for a couple of seconds while his brain registered the hands as numerical information. “Uh, yeah, thanks. Be there… uh, be there soon?”

“Sure.” The mechanic started to walk away, then paused. “You’re doing great, Turbo.”

The screwdriver mocked Fitz from its position on the floor as he listened to the fading footsteps. He sighed. His grip was still weak, but Mack had ordered some specialty tools online that had larger handles and were made for people with disabilities. They were easier to use than regular tools, but no means were they _easy_ to use.

Fitz had recently been getting back into the swing of things and was helping in the garage. Although he wanted to be in the lab (read, with Simmons) inventing and fixing his designs, everything was still too small and fiddly for his damaged hands to work with.

“Fitz?”

He wheeled around on his chair, head reeling. “Jemma?”

The hanger was empty.

Footsteps echoed in the hallways surrounding the hanger, and Fitz clenched his fists. Someone was pranking him. He hated this, people taking advantage of him. The screwdriver on the floor caught his eye again.

Right. Fix the damn… _thing,_ and then meet Mack in the kitchen for a sandwich. It was lunchtime, and he should be getting this part done with so he could eat.

 

* * *

 

 

                **The one where May reteaches Fitz how to defend himself. In the fic, she was going to accidentally actually punch him in the face.**

“Okay, arms up.” May held her own arms up, hands curled into fists. “You need to protect your face.” Fitz didn’t move. “Mack’s behind you if you lose balance.”

                He lifted his hands up to his face. “It’s not, uh, not like I’m going to… to… to be going back. You know, back to the…” He trailed off before shaking his head as if to clear it. “To the field.”

                May suddenly jolted towards him and he stepped backwards quickly, losing his balance and stumbling sideways into Mack’s arms. “That’s why you need to train, Turbo,” Mack said as he helped Fitz back to steady feet. “Even if you don’t plan on going back to the field, you gotta be prepared for anything. It’s part of being a Shield agent.”

                “Yeah, yeah.” The mat stuck to his sweaty feet. He raised his hands again, knowing May would prompt him to if he didn’t. “Don’t hit me.”

                “You know the basics. You were trained in this back at the academy, and I know you trained with others on this team before you went out in the field. Coulson wouldn’t have it any other way.”

 

* * *

 

 

                **The one where Fitz gets stuck while the team is away. This was the first copy of the chapter I wrote about Fitz getting stuck on the ground, but I lost steam with this one. Doing it from his perspective was just kind of boring.**

The tv blared an episode of _Alphas_ , the bright colours darting across the screen and jumping around the darkened room. Fitz sat on the couch, taking it all in. It was evening, getting late- the perfect time to be curled up on the couch watching television.

                There had been an emergency a couple hours away from base. At first, everyone was wary of leaving Fitz alone lest something happened, but he convinced them he’d be fine for a few hours. Even so, Bobbi had grabbed a ready-made meal out of the fridge for him, and May had threatened to castrate him if he forgot to take his meds.

                So here he was, snug and warm under a blanket on the couch, watching a new sci-fi show that wasn’t half bad. He had been hoping the team would be back soon, but it was kind of nice to have some alone time.

                Of course he appreciated what the team did for him. He really absolutely did. But sometimes… well, he just wanted some time to himself, some time where nobody was fussing over him or making sure he hadn’t fallen over or something. He was a grown man, after all.

               


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hunter grumbled when Fitz said they should probably get back to work. “Who the bloody hell…” he trailed off, still annoyed at their situation. “I mean, how hard is it to put things back where they belong in the first place?”
> 
> Or...
> 
> The one where Fitz and Hunter are doing inventory as punishment, but Fitz' brain won't cooperate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In a very typical me way, I've decided to torture Fitz more. Because who doesn't love some Fitz' whump? And let's be real- Fitz whump seems to be pretty much cannon at this point.
> 
> There are notes at the end explaining what is happening in this chapter, as I understand not everyone is medically inclined.

“This is all your fault, yeah?” Hunter pointed the business end of a screwdriver at Fitz. “It was your bloody idea to cook dinner for the team.”

Fitz raised an eyebrow, “I was trying to be, you know… good.” It wasn’t quite the word he had been looking for, but it worked well enough. Recently, he had been working hard with his speech therapist to improve the flow of his speech. Part of that meant being okay with substituting words that were close to the one he wanted to say. “Every-everyone was, uh, was…working hard-”

“But did you have to lie about how much chilli pepper you put in the stew? I’ve never seen people fight to get to water like that! Did you see Coulson?!”

The storage room was hot, too hot for Fitz’ liking, and he pulled uncomfortably at his shirt collar. Coulson had been… upset, to say the least, over the spicy food fiasco, and had ordered Hunter and Fitz to do inventory of the unused storage closet in the basement.

Hunter sighed and tugged on Fitz’ arm. “Come-on, mate. Help a brother out here,” he begged. “Do were have eight screwdrivers?” 

“Uh…” A quick search of the bench found seven screwdrivers, with the eighth being in Hunter’s hand. “Check.” With a tight grip on an absurdly large pencil, Fitz checked off the screwdrivers. “What’s, uh, what’s next?”

“We have to count the actual screws.” A large barrel full of odds and ends sat at one end of the room. It was filled to the brim with everything and anything, all bits needing to be counted, sorted, and checked off. “Time to practice your fine motor skills, Fitz. Okay, we’re supposed to have 1438 1’ Phillips, 784 2’ Phillips, 296 1’ slotted, 945-”

 

“-Got it?”

Fitz blinked.

“Fitz, you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah.” The engineer shook his head and looked around for where he had put down the pencil. “That’s… that’s a lot, of, um, a lot…”

“A lot of info, right, sorry,” Hunter said as he looked towards the barrel. “I think the best way to do this is for us to sort them into piles first, and then we can divide and conquer the counting, yeah?” But as he looked over at the barrel again, he sighed heavily. “How the hell are we supposed to deal with that? Who just bloody threw everything in there and said, that’s fine like that.” He paused. “I bet it was Keonig.”

Fitz just shook his head and shuffled past Hunter to get to the offending barrel. “We need dif-dif… separate containers.”

“Or bags, or something to keep ‘em separate, yeah. I’ll be right back.” With that, Hunter left the room in a hurry. Fitz understood; it was getting sweaty in the room.

Honestly, he was just glad to be getting back in the routine of things. Not that it would ever quite be the same as before, but it was getting better. He had actually been punished with work for doing something stupid. That was a-

 

“-to Fitz!” Suddenly, Hunter was all up in his face. “Quit your day dreaming, would you? We have work to do!”

“Right, yeah, sorry.” Fitz grabbed some of the plastic containers Hunter had in his arms. He looked around for a minute before setting them on a nearby table. This was going to be a test of not only his fine motor skills, but also his ability to stay focused, and his ability to count without getting lost. 

It took over an hour, but slowly, all the individual pieces managed to be sorted into their correct container. Hunter went and got water for them both before they started the counting. It was an appreciated break; they had been working for a good portion of the afternoon already.

Hunter grumbled when Fitz said they should probably get back to work. “Who the bloody hell…” he trailed off, still annoyed at their situation. “I mean, how hard is it to put things back where they belong in the first place?”

They worked fairly silently for the next half hour. Fitz tried his best to count in his head, but it became increasingly difficult. He was tired; he still sometimes had to rest in the afternoons, especially if he’d been working in the morning. “Do you think, do you, uh, think-”

 

Fitz jerked backwards as Hunter was suddenly right up in his face. “What?” he yelped, stumbling as he tried not to lose his balance.

“I think there’s something wrong, mate.” Hunter looked actually concerned, which was abnormal for him. He generally took everything in stride. “You’re… kinda spacing out on me.”

“Spacing out?” Ftz echoed. He blinked. “What… do you mean?”

Hunter took a step backwards and let go of Fitz’ arm. “You were talking, and then you just…” He waved his hand around vaguely. “…just spaced out,” he said, before quickly adding, “Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m just… tired,” Fitz said with a small smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “I, uh, I should go.”

“I’ve kept you here too long.” The awkwardness in the air was palpable as Hunter rubbed the back of his neck. “We could always tackle this again tomorrow. Coulson won’t mind.”   
As he turned towards the door, it swung open, revealing Bobbi.

“Hey, boys,” she said with a knowing smirk. “How’s it going in here? Having fun doing inventory?”

“Oh, hush, Bob,” Hunter groaned. “Had you seen that barrel? It was absolutely full of crap! Who did that? Who thought that was okay?”

“Hunter, I have seen your bedroom. You can’t complain about messes.”

“Yeah but it doesn’t get that-”

 

“- and not with chili peppers this time.”

“Chilli?” Fitz echoed, confused. His head felt strange. What about chillies? And... Hunter’s bedroom?

Bobbi looked over at him in concern. “Fitz, you alright? You look a little pale.” His legs felt shaky, and she grabbed his arm to steady him. “Okay, it’s okay- Hunter, can you grab a chair?”

Something seemed… off. Fitz couldn’t shake the feeling that something was wrong. 

Hunter came back into the room at breakneck speed, pushing a wheelie chair stolen from a nearby lab. Bobbi gently guided Fitz into sitting down on it. She lifted his chin up gently with her hands, and looked at him intently. “What are you feeling, Fitz?”

“I, uh, I don’t… know.” The cloudy feeling in his head was slowly dissolving. “I think… I think I’m tired?”

She turned and looked at Hunter, then back to Fitz. “Okay, let’s run through a checklist here. When was the last time you ate something?”

“Lunch-” 

Hunter broke in. “-We had meatballs subs that Mack picked up while running errands. We had a drink of water not too long ago too. Don’t worry, Bobs.”

She glared at Hunter, which shut him up pretty quickly. “So it’s not low blood sugar, or dehydration.” She paused. “Are you sure you’re just tired?”

Fitz was feeling alright again, but still pretty tired. “Uh, yeah. Tired. That’s all.” He tried to stand up, but his legs were wobbly, and Bobbi ended up supporting a lot of his weight. “Just… need a nap.”

“Sure, sure thing, Fitz,” Bobbi said. “Hunter, go and grab his wheels, I don’t think-”

 

“-okay, Fitz, you’re okay.”

He blinked hard. Bobbi was crouched down beside him as he sat in the chair- when did he sit down? She was rubbing his arm in what he figured was supposed to be a comforting gesture. “Bobbi, what…”

“Hey, back with me?” she asked, searching his face. “You dipped out there for a minute.” He gave her a confused look, and she tried explain more. “You weren’t responding to me. You were awake, just… not responding. I got you to sit down in case something went wrong.” Her phone dinged, and she glanced down at it. “I texted May. I think you’re having seizures, maybe? Did you take your meds this morning?”

Had he taken his meds this morning? Fitz tried to remember, but the details were fuzzy. He had eaten… toast for breakfast, he could remember that. It had had some kind of jam on it, but he wasn’t even sure what kind of jam it was. “I, uh, I don’t know,” he confessed. He felt his cheeks heating up.

Bobbi sighed, but gave him a reassuring smile. “That’s alright, we’ll figure this out. We’ll get you back to your room, and we’ll take a look at your pill box. We can check, and if you haven’t taken your meds, we’ll figure out what’s the best move.”

Fitz wanted to nod, but the rising sensation in his chest distracted him.

The door to the closet swung open, and May looked in. “Fitz?” she said evenly. “Talk to me.”

A silent moment passed, and Bobbi spoke up. “I’m not sure if he took his meds this morning, and I think he’s had a couple seizures. Hunter said he zoned out a couple times, and he’s been non-responsive twice since I got here.”

May cocked her head slightly, then strode over to Fitz and bent down so she was eye-level with him. “How do you feel?” she asked, her voice rough with a hidden streak of protectiveness in it. “Fitz?”

“I, uh…” he muttered. “It’s…” He was starting to feel lightheaded, the rising feeling in his chest strengthening. There was a worrying whine starting to creep into the edges of his consciousness.

May was in front of him, saying something… probably saying something. 

The feeling in his chest swelled to a crest and-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone is confused about what is happening- good. That's what I tried to do. i tried to write Fitz having seizures from his perspective. 
> 
> The seizures he's having throughout, those 'dips' in concentration, are called absence seizures. They are momentary absences from consciousness, and they don't have a post-ictal period. A sudden increase in absence seizures can be an indicator of the seizure generalizing, as it does at the end of the chapter.
> 
> Fitz feels the seizure aura- the rising in his chest- but isn't able to piece it together that he's going to have a larger seizure because he is confused from having so many absences in a row.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A look of minor panic crossed Hunter’s face. “Uh, Bob, I think he’s doing it again.”
> 
> Or,
> 
> The one where Fitz and Hunter are doing inventory as punishment, but Fitz' brain won't cooperate. Bobbi, May, and Hunter are very worried.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, twice in a week! Look at me go! I bet it has something to do with school being well done for the year.
> 
> This is a companion chapter to the last one, but this chapter is not from Fitz' point of view. Instead of seeing Fitz' confusion as his brain stutters, you get to see everyone else's panic as he seizes. 
> 
> Warning- there are some bad words near the end. I think they are used appropriately, though, as it is a very scary situation for people to go through.

“This is all your fault, yeah?” Hunter pointed the business end of a screwdriver at Fitz. “It was your bloody idea to cook dinner for the team.”

Fitz raised an eyebrow, “I was trying to be, you know… good.”

Hunter sighed. Last night, Fitz had approached him with the idea of making dinner for the team, since everyone had been working hard lately, and he had wanted to help out more. It was all going smoothly… until the lid to the chili pepper had come off while Fitz was sprinkling some into the stew, and nearly the whole bottle went in. And of course, Fitz decided not to say anything. “But did you have to lie about how much chilli pepper you put in the stew? I’ve never seen people fight to get to water like that! Did you see Coulson?!” Hunter asked.

Fitz just tugged at his shirt collar, no doubt annoyed that he and Hunter were sentenced to clean a storage closet. Hunter was annoyed, that was for sure. He sighed again and grabbed Fitz’ arm. “Come-on, mate. Help a brother out here,” he begged. “Do were have eight screwdrivers?” 

“Uh…” Fitz looked around for a moment before locating seven screwdrivers, with the eighth being in Hunter’s hand. “Check.” Hunter grabbed them and shoved them into a nearby toolbox. “What’s, uh, what’s next?”

Hunter stared down at the paper in his hands. They had to do what?! “We have to count the actual screws. Time to practice your fine motor skills, Fitz.” He took a breath, steeling himself. “Okay, we’re supposed to have 1438 1’ Phillips, 784 2’ Phillips, 296 1’ slotted, 945 2’ slotted, 245 1’ Allen, and 630 2’ Allen.” He glanced ruefully at the barrel. “And a whole bunch of odds and ends that I don’t want to count, so we’ll probably just ‘lose’ those.” He looked up at Fitz. The man was staring at him. “Got it?”

Fitz just blinked at him.

Hunter frowned. “Fitz, you okay?”

“Uh, yeah, yeah.” The engineer shook his head and looked around. “That’s… that’s a lot of, um, a lot…”

“A lot of info, right, sorry,” Hunter said as he looked towards the barrel. “I think the best way to do this is for us to sort them into piles first, and then we can divide and conquer the counting, yeah?” But as he looked over at the barrel again, he sighed heavily. “How the hell are we supposed to deal with that? Who just bloody threw everything in there and said, that’s fine like that.” He paused. “I bet it was Keonig.”

Fitz just shook his head and shuffled past Hunter to get to the offending barrel. “We need dif-dif… separate containers.”

“Or bags, or something to keep ‘em separate, yeah. I’ll be right back.” Hunter was glad that Coulson had sentenced Fitz to inventory as well. The man actually thought things through. If Hunter had had to sort through the barrel by himself, he probably would have just thrown things everywhere, and ended up making a bigger mess trying to clean it up.

He ducked into a nearby, sorted storage closet. A series of plastic containers sat on a nearby shelf. He scooped them up and headed back.

“Hey, look at these, yeah?” Hunter said as he pulled open the door. “Clear and clean, and I think there’s probably a label maker around here somewhere, so this kind of mess doesn’t happen again.” He looked up to see Fitz staring off into space, chewing on his lower lip. “Hey, Fitz… earth to Fitz!” He said as he stepped closer to the engineer. “Quit your day dreaming, would you? We have work to do!”

“Right, yeah, sorry.” Fitz grabbed some of the plastic containers Hunter had in his arms.

Hunter appreciated it was going to be a difficult task for Fitz. Not only did it involve fine motor skills- which Fitz struggled with- but it also involved strict mental concentration. Fitz had difficulty staying focused on a task on the best of days.

It took over an hour, but slowly, they managed to sort all the individual pieces into their correct container. Hunter went and got water for them both before they started the counting. It was an appreciated break; they had been working for a good portion of the afternoon already.

Hunter grumbled when Fitz said they should probably get back to work. “Who the bloody hell…” He trailed off, still annoyed at their situation. “I mean, how hard is it to put things back where they belong in the first place?” Keonig was going to die.

They worked silently. Hunter was bored out of his mind. He had wanted to blast music, but he knew it would screw with Fitz’ concentration.

The engineer eventually looked up at Hunter, his face pinched and drawn. He looked tired. “Do you think, do you, uh, think-” he started. But then he trailed off.

Hunter looked up. Fitz was just… staring, again. “Uh, Fitz?” Hunter tried. 

There was no response.

That was odd, and it worried Hunter. Usually, when Fitz needed a moment to collect his thoughts, he would put up a finger to let the other person know he needed a minute. But now… Fitz was just staring. Day dreaming, possibly?

Hunter reached out and put his hand on Fitz’ arm. “Hey, Fitz. Fitz, man.” He looked around awkwardly. “Hey, are you okay?”

Suddenly, Fitz jerked backwards, his eyes wide. “What?” he yelped, stumbling as he tried not to lose his balance.

Hunter frowned. “I think there’s something wrong, mate. You’re… kinda spacing out on me.”

“Spacing out?” Ftz echoed. He blinked. “What… do you mean?”

Hunter took a step backwards and let go of Fitz’ arm. “You were talking, and then you just…” He waved his hand around vaguely. “…just spaced out,” he said, before quickly adding, “Sorry, I don’t really know what I’m talking about.”

“I’m just… tired.” Hunter found that excuse reasonable, but still suspicious. “I, uh, I should go.”

“I’ve kept you here too long.” The awkwardness in the air was palpable as Hunter rubbed the back of his neck. “We could always tackle this again tomorrow. Coulson won’t mind.” As he turned towards the door, it swung open, revealing Bobbi.

“Hey, boys,” she said with a knowing smirk. “How’s it going in here? Having fun doing inventory?”

“Oh, hush, Bob.” Though his voice suggested he was annoyed, Hunter was glad to see Bobbi. “Had you seen that barrel? It was absolutely full of crap! Who did that? Who thought that was okay?”

Bobbi raised an eyebrow at her boyfriend. “Hunter, I have seen your bedroom. You can’t complain about messes.”

“Yeah,” Hunter drawled out, “but it doesn’t get that messy. I make the bed every morning!”

“Every morning?”

A slight tinge of red rose to Hunter’s cheeks. “Okay, fine. Maybe every other morning.” A look from Bobbi prompted him to try again. “You know what, you win. I only make it when I know someone’s going to be in my bedroom…. like you.” He smirked.

“Of course,” Bobbi said as she shook her head. “You make your bed to impress people. Do you actually do things out of your own heart?”

“Hey, I’m cleaning this room!”

“Because Coulson told you too.”

The two were full on at each other, though their tone never quite crossed the line to anger. “Hey, I made dinner with Fitz the other night. I might even make dinner again tonight.” Then he added, “You know, since I’m such a nice person.”

Bobbi rolled her eyes at him. “You want to make dinner again?” she asked. When Hunter shrugged, she continued. “Fine, but it has to be a proper dinner, and not with chili peppers this time.”

“Chilli?” Fitz echoed.

Both Hunter and Bobbi looked over at him. He looked… off. Something was wrong.

“Fitz, you alright?” Bobbi asked. “You look a little pale.” He listed slightly to the side, unsteady on his feet. Bobbi lunged over and grabbed his bicep in an attempt to keep him upright. “Okay, it’s okay- Hunter, can you grab a chair?”

Hunter ran out of the room, returning seemingly moments later with a wheelie chair stolen from a nearby lab. Bobbi gently guided Fitz into sitting down on it. She lifted his chin up gently with her hands, and looked at him intently. “What are you feeling, Fitz?”

“I, uh, I don’t… know.” Fitz’ eyes wandered around the room, seemingly unfocused. “I think… I think I’m tired?”

She turned and looked at Hunter, then back to Fitz. Sometimes, Fitz forgot to take care of himself, and she was worried that that could be the problem at hand. “Okay, let’s run through a checklist here,” she said. “When was the last time you ate something?”

Fitz started, “Lunch-”

And then Hunter broke in with, “-We had meatballs subs that Mack picked up while running errands. We had a drink of water not too long ago too. Don’t worry, Bobs.” Hunter may not always pay attention to the little details, but he always kept an eye on Fitz. He liked the man too much to let him down.

Bobbi glared at Hunter for answering for Fitz. She had been interested in how he’d answer, because his speech might give her clues about what was wrong. “So it’s not low blood sugar, or dehydration.” She paused. “Are you sure you’re just tired?”

“Uh, yeah. Tired. That’s all.” Fitz looked her in the eye and frowned. He tried to stand up, but he wobbled, and Bobbi ended up taking most of his weight. “Just… need a nap.”

“Sure, sure thing Fitz.” There was no way he was making it back to his bedroom on his own power. “Hunter,” she said, “go and grab his wheels. I don’t think walking is really an option here.”

A look of minor panic crossed Hunter’s face. “Uh, Bob, I think he’s doing it again.”

Fitz was staring off into space, chewing on his lower lip. Bobbi cursed. “Fitz?” she asked, but got no response. “Okay, go and get his chair. I’m getting May down here now.” She grabbed her phone and sent off a quick text to May to let her know she was needed in the storage room- ASAP.

Hunter tore out of the room and Bobbi grabbed both of Fitz’ arms and gently guided him into sitting down in the chair, thankful he did so without resistance. “Alright, Fitz,” she said as she bent down beside him, and rubbed him gently on the arm. “It’s okay, Fitz, you’re okay.”

With a sharp inhale, Fitz blinked and looked around, confused.

“Hey, back with me?” Bobbi asked, searching his face. “You dipped out there for a minute.” When he didn’t respond, just gave her a confused look, she continued. “You weren’t responding to me. You were awake, just… not responding. I got you to sit down in case something went wrong.” Her phone dinged, and she looked down. May was right around the corner, and heading to them pronto. “I texted May. I think you’re having seizures, maybe? Did you take your meds this morning?”

It took a moment for Fitz to answer, his eyes wide. He was paler than when Bobbi had first come in, and he seemed confused. Very confused. “I, uh, I don’t know.” A blush rose on his cheeks.

Bobbi sighed, but gave him a reassuring smile. “That’s alright, we’ll figure this out. We’ll get you back to your room, and we’ll take a look at your pill box. We can check, and if you haven’t taken your meds, we’ll figure out what’s the best move.” She looked up as the door to the closet swung open, revealing May.

“Fitz?” May asked, taking in the situation. “Talk to me.”

It was silent. Fitz didn’t answer, just looked at May with a frown on his face, before looking down at his hands. 

“I’m not sure if he took his meds this morning, and I think he’s had a couple seizures,” Bobbi said grimly. “Hunter said he zoned out a couple times, and he’s been non-responsive twice since I got here.”

May cocked her head slightly, then strode over to Fitz and bent down so she was eye-level with him. “How do you feel?” she asked, her voice rough with a hidden streak of protectiveness in it. “Fitz?”

Fitz looked unwell. His eyes wandered throughout the room, not landing on anything. “I, uh…” he started. “It’s…” He swayed.

A surge of his concern shot through May’s chest. She grabbed onto his arm. “Fitz, Fitz, are you alright? Can you tell me what you’re feeling?”

Fitz suddenly stiffened, every muscle in his body locking tight.

“Shit!” Bobbi lunged for Fitz. Together, her and May managed to lower him to the floor just in time for the clonic phase of the seizure to take a hold of his body. “He hasn’t had one of these since the actual… accident.” Bobbi shoved everything near the fallen engineer aside.

May watched Fitz, her eyebrows knitted together in concern as he jerked rhythmically. She pulled off her sweater and put it under his head. “He must have missed more than one dose of his seizures meds if he’s worked himself into a full tonic clonic.” She paused. “I think the sudden increase in those other seizures was indicating he was going to have a larger one.”

Neither woman spoke for a minute, though it was not quiet, as the noises Fitz was making in the throes of the seizure were loud and awful and scary. “I haven’t been checking his meds lately,” Bobbi admitted. “We’ve just been so busy- but that’s no excuse.”

“I haven’t, either.” May frowned, then glanced at her watch. “He’s usually pretty good about it.”

The door slammed open as Hunter came back with the wheelchair. “Hey, I- oh, shit.”

“Yeah.” Bobbi looked up at him. “Can you go and get Mack? He’s going to want to carry Fitz back to his room after.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Hunter tore back out the closet.

The forceful contractions gripping Fitz lessened, and then stopped. His breath came in heavy gasps.

May looked down at her watch. “2:17.” It wasn’t a long seizure, especially for a breakthrough one, but it felt very long. May was sure she had aged ridiculously in the couple minutes since she’d stepped into the closet. She gently rolled him onto his side into recovery position.

Bobbi shifted slightly, knocking over a container in the process. The plastic container flipped over and screws went everywhere. She frowned. 

There were bits of metal everywhere. Somehow, in the whole mess of things, many of the sorted containers had been knocked over, and all the bits and bobs were lying all over the floor, mixed together.

May raised an eyebrow at the mess. “Fitz and Hunter are going to be upset.”

“Probably,” Bobbi agreed. She looked at Fitz in front of her. He lay on his side, breaths still hard and wet, a puddle of urine soaking the floor. Red hot anger flared in her chest. “Yeah, well, so am I.” She paused. “Fucking Ward.”

“I did that,” May said sullenly. “This time, I’d like to fucking kill him.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's wrong.
> 
> And that's all he knows.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have resurrected from the dead, or, rather, from not writing in absolutely forever.
> 
> In true me form, I'm writing this because I've been procrastinating studying for exams. And also in true me form, I wrote a short piece chronicling the continued torture of poor Leo Fitz. Read in horror as I explore another side effect of his trip to the bottom of the ocean.

Fitz ground his hands into his eyes. “Can you, can you just… stop.” The last word tumbled out of his mouth in a smattering of messy constants. Every fibre of his being was tight, vibrating with energy. “Stop.” He couldn’t think.

Skye trailed off her monologue, eyes flitting towards Fitz. When he said nothing else and stayed in his bent over position, she reached out towards him. “Fitz, are you-” But the moment her hand grazed his shoulder, he jerked back. The knot in Skye’s chest grew. “Bobbi?” she hollered. “Bobbi!” Panic shone through her voice.

Heavy breaths tumbled out of Fitz’ mouth as he curled in on himself further, trembling.

“Hey, what’s up?” Bobbi looked between Skye and Fitz. “Fitz, is everything okay?” When he didn’t respond, she turned to Skye. Skye shook her head, her eyes wide. “Okay, Fitz,” Bobbi said as she turned back to look critically at him, “You gotta give me something.” She paused. “Do you have a migraine?”

Fitz’ brain was exploding, neurons firing rapidly through it and to the outside world where the electrical signals bounced around the room before crashing back into his skull. The room’s ambient sound was infinitely magnified as he struggled to breathe through the onslaught of sensory information. He could still feel where Skye had touched his arm, and it made his skin crawl. 

“Are you in pain, Fitz? Does something hurt?”

Did something hurt? Confusion swirled throughout his entire being and he whimpered.

Bobbi frowned and dug her cell phone out of her pocket. “Just keep breathing, Fitz. You’re going to be okay.” She punched in a number and quickly started talking into the phone. “I need a med team in the control room right now… it’s Dr. Fitz… no, I’m not sure… okay.”

Skye reached over to touch Fitz, but pulled her hand back, thinking better of it. “Hey, Fitz,” she tried softly. When he didn’t respond, she tried again. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

It was loud, it was too loud. Fitz tried to make his mouth work, but nothing came out. His words were getting stuck in the damaged part of his brain, unable to get out. 

“Fitz, I need you to uncurl yourself a little.” Bobbi looked at his bent position. “You need help, but I can’t see if anything’s wrong when you’re like this.” Before Skye could warn her, she reached around and grabbed onto his shoulder and gently pulled.

Nerve endings burned as Bobbi’s usually gentle fingers ripped at his shoulder. All he could think about was getting away, getting away from the pain and the confusion and-

Bobbi yelled out as Fitz took a swing at her, partially closed fist narrowly missing her face. She tightened her grip on his shoulder and a pained sound shot out of him. He jolted backwards and ripped himself out of her grasp, losing his balance in the process, falling heavily to the floor where he lay in a gasping puddle of tangled limbs.

The room fell silent, save for the keening sounds coming from the fallen engineer. Everyone was watching the scene unfold. Bobbi stood stock still in shock. 

It was too much, too much-

“Fitz, you’re hurting yourself!” Skye’s voice was so shrill, so shrill, so shrill, but the pain lancing through his hand focused him, gave him something to ground himself on, gave him something to focus on.

“Leo.” Bobbi was down beside him. “Take a breath and calm down.” She paused to collect her thoughts. “Something’s wrong, and I need you to try to communicate what it is to me. You can talk, or you can sign, or you can use your iPad. But you need to stop. You’re hurting yourself.”

Something was wrong, his brain wasn’t working and everything was wrong-

Eyes closed and muscles trembling, Fitz managed to extract one hand from his mess of limbs and made grabby motions. Skye bent down and put his iPad right in front of his eyes with his communication app open.

He peeled open an eye, the lights stabbing into his retina. His limbs felt tight, vibrating, hard to direct them to where he wanted them to go. Eventually his hand landed on the screen, and he managed to type out a mostly coherent thought. He pulled his hand back to his mouth and bit down again.

Bobbi’s eyes narrowed as she read out the text. “Brain explosion. Loud. Bright. Scared.” She glanced towards Skye, then back to Fitz. “Okay, good job,” she said quietly. She looked at Skye. “Turn down the lights and get everyone out of here. Tell medical to wait outside the door for now.”

Within moments, the room was dark and quiet, and Fitz felt the humming in his brain die down a bit.

Bobbie watched Fitz as he relaxed fractionally and stopped biting his knuckles. She gave Skye a look as the hacker returned. “What else do you need, Fitz?” While she waited for him to type something else out, Bobbi pulled out her phone and texted Coulson, appraising him of the situation. When Fitz had laboriously finished typing, Bobbi read it out. “Scared. Brain not working.”

Skye frowned, worried. “Do you want to go to your room? We can lay in your bed and watch Elf. I know you really like that movie.”

Fitz was able to think more coherently now. His brain was less of a jelly of disorganized thoughts and emotions. He thought about what Skye had said for a moment, then slowly nodded.

“Okay, before that, can medical look you over, Fitz?” Bobbi asked gently. “You fell pretty hard there, and I want to make sure you’re okay.” Although Fitz had relaxed and was becoming more communicative, Bobbi was still worried about what had caused this… episode in the first place.

He reached out and managed to grab onto Skye, squeezing gently before nodding.

“Okay,” Bobbi said. “Let’s get you up. Is it okay if Skye and I help you sit up?” With a shaky nod from Fitz, Skye and Bobbi positioned themselves on either side of the fallen engineer and gently pulled him into a sitting position. Skye scooted behind him so he could lean up against her.

“I’m scared too,” Skye whispered in Fitz’ ear as she settled him against her. “I’m always scared.”

Fitz could only nod minutely. He didn’t know what had happened. The world had felt like it was collapsing in on him, a dark, swirling hole in his chest sucking everything inwards. It was the single most oppressive and isolating experience. Even now, his fingers tingled and his brain buzzed with the aftereffects.

He didn’t know how to control his brain, and that scared him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sensory meltdowns are scary and no fun at all.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> People who came into this facility were vulnerable and in need of help.
> 
> People who came out of this facility put their everything into Hydra.
> 
> Or...
> 
> The one where Fitz goes back into the field.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think this is the last chapter, guys!
> 
> I feel bad not updating this on a regular basis, and this seems like a good place to stop. Thanks for reading my stuff, and always being so kind about leaving comments and stuff. 
> 
> I'll keep writing, and I hope to post other stories soon. :)

Hydra had bases everywhere, people everywhere to watch and change events for their purpose. The Shield team had been working non-stop to try and dismantle Hydra from within its own ranks.

Fitz huffed and clumsily swept away some sweaty curls from his forehead. This was not what he thought he'd be doing to take down Hydra.

"Alright, Iain, just one more rep."

He'd envisioned he'd be back working with his tech, maybe even helping Skye out with her computers. He'd wanted to upgrade the Dwarfs with some cool new tech.

"Good job!"

But here he was, gathering intel in the rehabilitation wing of a medical facility.

He supposed it could be worse. He could be Hunter, and be stuck getting intel from the psychiatric wing while faking a delusional disorder and trying not to get drugged out of his mind.

Fitz let himself fall back against the back rest of the leg machine he was using, his whole body trembling. He wasn't sure what was worse; the humiliating experience of working on childish tasks to improve his fine motor skills, or the long, sweaty strength sessions in the gym.

"You good, Iain?" Fitz' physiotherapist leant down so he was at his level. "Iain?"

Using an undercover name was just weird. "Yeah," Fitz said once he recovered his breath somewhat. "Just... tired."

"We did longer and harder leg strengthening exercises today than you've ever managed before, so I'm not surprised." The physiotherapist smiled. "You did some great work today. I think you're ready... to, uh, go up a level."

Fitz gave him a fake smile. He needed to appear willing to do anything if he was going to find out how Hydra was controlling this facility, what they were doing to the people here. "Sounds, uh, sounds good." He paused, still trying to suck in enough oxygen. "My legs are, um, my legs are t-tired..." He trailed off and waved towards his walker. "I don't think-"

"No problem." The physiotherapist walked over to an intercom on the wall. "I'll get them to bring a shower chair; you look like you could use a shower." He pressed a button on the wall, waited for the beep, and then said, "Iain is ready. Please bring an s-chair and an escort."

While he waited for the escort, Fitz internally compiled all the information he had gathered on Hydra thus far. There was nothing overtly Hydra in the facility; there weren't symbols hanging in every room, and no one seemed to do daily morning chants. It was all very subtle. His physiotherapist kept mentioning how he was "almost ready", and one of the lunch ladies kept going on about the "bigger worldly goal".

People who came into this facility were vulnerable and in need of help.

People who came out of this facility put their everything into Hydra.

"Iain?"

Fitz blinked out of his thoughts to find a burly orderly standing beside him with a non-descript wheelchair. "Um, hi," he said slowly.

The orderly looked at him. "Do you need help into the chair?"

"Uh..." He looked at where he was sitting, and then to the position of the chair. He was very tired and shaky, but he could probably make it himself. Probably. "I'll, uh... yeah, I'm good." It took him a minute, but he managed to transfer himself into the chair.

The orderly was silent as he pushed Fitz through the halls. It wasn't until he made a wrong turn that Fitz realized something might be wrong.

"The, um... you missed-missed the turn." Fitz twisted around to try and look at the orderly as they began going through an unfamiliar area of the hospital. The orderly ignored him and sped up his pace.

Fitz' heart began to beat faster in his chest. The staff here had been nothing but nice and helpful, if not a little weird. He hadn't met anyone who would refuse to answer his questions. This was new. This was something different.

This was Hydra, and he was about to find out how they operated in the hospital.

One elevator ride to the basement later, and Fitz was wheeled into a large, concrete room with chairs and a screen. He tried not to grimace. He knew what this was. This was brainwashing.

He decidedly did not want to be brainwashed.

“What’s going on?” he asked the orderly, trying to sound calm. “I thought- I thought I was… showering.”

“Change of plans,” came the gruff reply.

He was wheeled to the centre of the room so that he was directly in front of the large screen. It was only then that he noticed the wheelchair he was in had leather straps on the arms. “Uh-” he tried. “Is this… therapy?”

“Sure, let’s call it that.” The orderly reached down and grabbed one of the straps. Fitz wasn’t sure if he should resist. He didn’t want to be brainwashed, but he didn’t have much intel right now. Before he could decide what to do, his right wrist was strapped tightly to the armrest of the chair.

But just before his left wrist was strapped in, there was a commotion at the door of the room.

“Oh bloody hell, let go of me!”

Fitz sighed in relief.

“The king will hear of this! My father will not stand for the unjust treatment of the prince of America!”

In the door came Hunter, giving a good show of being delusional as he fake-struggled with an orderly. He caught Fitz’ eye and winked.

“Hey, Joe, help me with this guy, would you?” the orderly struggling to hold onto Hunter hollered.

Fitz’ orderly let go of his left wrist and hurried over to help subdue Hunter. This was Fitz’ chance. He wiggled his right arm, but it was strapped quite tightly to the chair. He needed to get his arm free. He had a trick up his sleeve- literally.

“My father will hear of this!” Hunter began to struggle for real as the other orderly descended upon him. “He- ow!” One of the men landed a blow to Hunter’s stomach. “Anytime now, Fitz!”

Fitz yanked harder on his restrained wrist, wincing as he began to bleed. He worked at the large unwieldy buckle with his free hand, but he couldn’t get it undone. He needed to get his arm out of there, now.

“Bloody hell, don’t-”

Fitz looked over his shoulder as Hunter yelled out, dropping to the floor with a thud. One of the orderlies held a taser-like weapon in his hand.

“Bloody hell,” Fitz echoed. The orderlies turned around to face him, breathing hard. Their eyes narrowed at him.

With no time left on the clock, Fitz abandoned all caution and began to pull on his trapped arm as hard as he could. It ripped free of the restraint and he reached up his sleeve, pulling out a silver cylinder. He pushed the button on it and flung himself out of the wheelchair.

The device stayed at chest level where he had let go of it. It beeped once, then sent out a shockwave that slammed into the orderlies, sending the flying to the ground unconscious. 

Fitz lay on the floor, panting.

Across the room, Hunter groaned and rolled over. “Ugh…did they really taser me?” He shook his head to try and clear it. “Fitz, you okay?”

“I, uh… mostly.” Fitz cradled his sore wrist to his chest, trying to ignore the burning. “You?” he asked after a minute.

Hunter hauled himself to his feet and kicked the taser away from the orderlies. “That taser stung like a bitch.” He glanced over at Fitz, his eyes narrowing as he saw the man in fetal position on the floor. “You need help up?” he asked as he crossed the room.

Fitz nodded, somewhat reluctantly. “Just, uh, just had physio.” He paused, breathing through the pain. “I worked heavier, no… harder than ever.”

“Huh.” Hunter bent down beside Fitz. “Maybe they were trying to wear you out so you couldn’t run. They tried to give me a dose of something before I came down here, but I cheeked it.” He held a hand out.

Fitz uncurled slowly, trying not to gasp as every part of him resisted movement. He reached out and grasped Hunter’s hand. “Computer.”

“Sure thing, mate.” Hunter helped Fitz back up into the chair, frowning as Fitz stifled a gasp of pain. “Are you sure you’re okay?” His eyes widened as he saw Fitz’ hand. “What the hell happened to your hand?”

The offending appendage was pink and raw, blood trickling down his arm and soaking his sleeve. “Had to get it out… of the strap,” he offered as an explanation. It was the sorest part of him, but not the only sore part. His legs ached from the intense physio session, and his shoulder and ribs were throbbing from where he had landed on them when he flung himself out of his wheelchair.

Hunter examined the hand for a moment, trying to keep the worry off his face. “I activated my recall signal, but I think we should wrap your hand now.”

Fitz shook his head. “I, uh, I need both hands… computer?”

“Right.” Hunter wheeled Fitz over to the computer and made sure everything was in reach of the engineer. “I’m going to go and tie those guys up in case that knockout shockwave thing doesn’t work like it should.”

Fitz didn’t even look up from his surprisingly quick typing. “I made it.”

It went quiet for a moment. “Well,” Hunter said eventually, “I guess I don’t need to tie them up.” He looked around the room, not really sure how he was being useful.

A few minutes later, May came around the corner of the hall and into the room. She lowered her gun and put her finger to her earpiece. “I’ve got them. Basement, lower left quadrant.” She looked at Fitz and Hunter, the latter of whom was sitting on the edge of the computer desk doing nothing.

“Wonder boy here did this thing single-handed.” Hunter paused. Then, much to Fitz’ annoyance, he pulled the engineer’s injured hand away from the keyboard so May could see. “A little too literally for my liking.”

May blinked at the pair. “Hunter, you’re useless.” She looked at Fitz with an unreadable expression. He was sure she could see his other injuries, how he was favouring his ribs and trying not to move his shoulder. “Fitz, as soon as you get everything you need, Bobbi is going to take a look at you.”

Fitz nodded, a swell of pride in his chest. He could do this. He was back in the field again. Ward had tried to take it all away, had tried to end him, but Fitz was still here. And he was still useful.


End file.
